


Let your mind go, let yourself be free

by marlowe78



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Blues Brothers, Community: spn_cinema, Gen, Graffiti, Parkour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 11:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlowe78/pseuds/marlowe78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake Blues, just out from prison, puts together his old band to save the Catholic home where he and brother Elwood were raised.<br/>Except, not Jake. And no Elwood. And there is no band. There isn't even music. We do have nuns, though...</p><p>This is the story of two brothers by choice, using their passion for color, speed and danger to do something from the goodness of their heart. Or maybe just to shut up that nasty conscience..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Helpful Information!

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know anything about parkour except that it's damn cool and two guys in sunglasses and suits would totally rock.  
> I know graffiti is mostly illegal, it's a bad, bad habit. Don't do that at home (if you're not good at it)
> 
> BIG NOTE:: mashimero made me a banner!!! I'm so happy, so delierious... I can't stop being smiley and giggly and happy! So look at that banner and go tell her how is awesome, right??
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm broke and sadly, I don't know the guys whose names I borrowed. Even the title is sto... borrowed. I hope Aretha Franklin won't mind...
> 
>  
> 
> Heaps of thanks to my very awesome friend soncnica, who encouraged me throughout this madness and who proof-read my story. If there is still something amiss, it's my fault so please TELL ME so I can make it right.
> 
> Many thanks to the spn_cinema-mods, who were so kind and helpful.

a/n: For a good collection of the graffiti-language, check the [graffiti-glossary](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Graffiti_terminology). Basically, the most important things to know would be:

 

KING: The best with the most. Some people refer to different writers as kings of different areas. King of throwups, king of style, king of a certain line, etc.

PAWN (or TOY): Used as an adjective to describe poor work, or as a noun meaning an inexperienced or unskilled writer.[3] Graffiti writers usually use this as a derogatory term for new writers in the scene or writers that are old to the scene that still do not have any skill or reputation. The act of "toying" someone else's graffiti is to disrespect it by means of going over it (see "slash"/"going over") The name pawn is used in conjunction with the "King/Queen" and "Knight" terminology which is a reference to Chess.

WILDSTYLE: [Wildstyle](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wildstyle) is a complicated and intricate form of graffiti. Due to its complexity, it is often very hard to read by people who are not familiar with it. The numerous layers and shapes make this style extremely difficult to produce homogeneously, which is why developing an original style in this field is seen as one of the greatest artistic challenges to a graffiti writer.

RACKING: Shoplifting or robbing, not limited to but including paint, markers, inks, caps, and clothes.

For more, see the link.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As for the parkour:

I used the English words (heathen!). I'm sure it sounds more awesome on French.

POP VAULT, wall hop, Wallpass, wallrun: Overcoming a tall structure, usually by use of a step off the wall to transform forward momentum into upward momentum, then using the arms to climb onto and over the object.

LAZY VAULT: To overcome an obstacle by using a one-handed vault, then using the other hand at the end of the vault to push oneself forwards in order to finish the move.

CAT PASS/CAT JUMP: The saut de chat involves diving forward over an obstacle so that the body becomes horizontal, pushing off with the hands and tucking the legs, such that the body is brought back to a vertical position, ready to land.

DROP: Literally 'jump to the ground' / 'jump to the floor'. To jump down, or drop down from something.

WALL JUMP: To step off a wall in order to overcome another obstacle or gain height to grab something

SIDE VAULT: A vault where the person is parallel to the obstacle and places one hand on the obstacle. When performing the vault, the person's back should be facing down.

 

If you want and need more information on that, check either [here ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parkour), or watch the interesting tutorial [on you-tube](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qd0huoFLLqI)

Otherwise, enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a cold day when they let him go.

Cold and a little windy, but it doesn’t matter – Jensen’s too glad to be out of that confining, too stuffy place with its gray walls and blue, blue, light blue and some blue in the corner.

He hates blue.

When he steps out, Jay’s there. Of course he is, Jensen never doubted that. The sun rises, the night is darker than the day, and Jared will be there.

What does make him falter a little is that while Jay is there, not so much is the Chevy.

“What kind of shit is this?” he asks when he climbs into the monstrosity that was clearly a police-cruiser from the Highway Police once upon its better days. Hell, it still has the paint-job!

“It’s from an auction! Super-bargain” Jared beams and Jensen has to suppress a smile. He’s supposed to be pissed here, not been sugar-talked into smiling. It’s just so damn hard to be mad at Jared. Always was, which is good, if Jensen was honest. His sad face and huge eyes always made the nuns reconsider the punishment and they scooted by far more often than not. It’s a shame he never mastered it for himself, or Jensen might not have gone to jail in the first place.

“Yeah, I really believe that it’s a bargain.” he growls instead when the car misfires and wobbles a little. “You didn’t think it inappropriate to come get me in a police-car?”

“Oh…” Jared falters and shrugs. “…didn’t think of it. It’s a great ride, has real power under the hood and got a big-ass trunk.” Of course Jay didn’t think of it. And if he’s honest, it doesn’t bother Jensen. What does bother him, though, is the missing Chevy.

“So, what happened to the Chevy?”

Now Jared grits his teeth and frowns, pretends to concentrate on the road. Which is ridiculous, there is nothing out here but some grass. Jensen lets him pretend, though. He’s tired and he knows him. He’ll tell him sooner or later.

“Had to sell it.” Sooner it is.

“Really? Why’d you do that?” Jensen sounds more pissed than he really is. He liked that car, but he’s pretty sure Jared had reasons. And it was his as much as Jensen’s.

“Because, asshole, somehow I had to pay for the fucking asshole-lawyer to get you out! You’d be still in there if I didn’t, so don’t fucking be mad at me for selling that piece of shit!”

Jensen looks over, tries to judge Jared through the sunglasses he’s wearing. His jaw is like a steel-trap, so ‘mad as hell’ is a good guess.

He sighs, leans back. Man, he missed his brother but he could really do without the drama. As if the kid doesn’t know him at all, after all those years…

“Sorry.” he mumbles before he drifts off to sleep. It’s a good bargain, after all. Who needs a Chevy in prison.

~*~*~*~

“Hey Bruce.” Jared beams, the pissy mood he was in already forgotten. Jensen knew it would be like this – the kid couldn’t hold a grudge against Lincoln’s murderer if he tried. “This here’s my brother. He’ll be living with me for a while. Just so you know.”

Bruce – a grumpy, ugly man who looks like he eats kitten for breakfast – and probably does – nods and scratches his crotch. His voice is phlegmy from smoke and something disgusting and he tells Jay something about a guy who … something. Jensen’s too tired to pay attention. Instead, he takes a look around at what Jared calls ‘home’.

‘Sad’ doesn’t even cover it. A group of junkies sit in a corner, playing a game of poker with a stack of joints, all twitchy and flinching every two minutes. Two … well, let’s call them ‘women’, though Jensen will use the term loosely, stand against a wall, one of the counting bills while the other looks over at him and squints her eye. Or maybe it’s a wink, but even though Jensen had no company except his right hand for quite a while, he wouldn’t touch her – or the other one – with a full body-suit. They both seem empty-eyed and broken, like this city chewed them up and spit them out in a wet, soggy glob. For a second, he thinks about Miriam, and that she’d probably look like that if she’d survived her pimp. She didn’t, so he doesn’t bother to remember more than her sad eyes, and no longer than for a split-second.

“Yeah, I’ll give him a call. Or Jensen will.” Jared says and Jensen just nods. Whatever they were talking about, he just wants a bed right now and nothing else. Certainly no phone-call.

They trudge up the rattling stairs with dust in the corners and so much sand and grit on the steps that it sounds like they’re at the beach. In front of a shabby-looking, flimsy door, Jared stops and wriggles his keys and the whole lock, it seems and they step in.

Or well… stand in. There is no fucking space to step. Jared grins, wide and pleased and proud, and dammit, Jensen’s now certain that there was some lasting damage when the kid fell from the tree. Fuck… the room is smaller than his prison-cell! At least there, he’d had one bunk for himself and actual room to take some steps.

But Jay is smiling and so happy that he can’t make himself mock it. “What’cha doin’?” he asks, though, when Jared turns on the camping-stove. He’s a bit afraid that Jared will burn down the small room, there’s certainly enough stuff closer to the flame than Jensen’s comfortable with.

“I’m starving. Toast – you want some?”

He can just about shake his head before the world crumbles, Armageddon strikes and a volcano blows up in the city. Or maybe it was the train that passed right in front of Jared’s window…

“Holy shit, Jay! How can you stand that?” Jensen growls once they put the things that were shaken around back to their original places. It’s suddenly quite clear why Jared has so much stuff glued to the walls or hanging from the ceiling.

“Huh? Oh, after a while you get used to it.” And isn’t that a scary thought? “It’s a little like a lullaby nowadays.”

“Yeah, from Godzilla. Man…” he wants to say how comes Jared is living here, in this shithole with the junkies and the whores, but after the last time he complained about the choices his friend made, he’s sure that something like ‘how else can you pay a lawyer’ will be the answer. And he really doesn’t want more guilt on his shoulders. So he stalls and diverts “…I’m beat!”

It’s not even a lie. Nights inside hadn’t been really relaxing, not after they put him in a cell with Scruffy-the-Monkey. Scruffy was nice enough, but he mumbled all night and had nightmares that were scary to witness. He also wet his bed, most nights, which added a really unpleasant odor in their accommodation, a mix between urine and bleach and soap.

With a heavy sigh, he falls back on the bed, which is big enough for two. It’s such a luxury that he can spread his limps for once that he doesn’t give a damn about Jay finding his space next to him. He’d just have to move him around.

With the next train wrecking the foundations of the ugly high-rise this… closet is in, he falls asleep, the tingle of burnt toast in his nose a welcome difference from Monkey-piss.

~*~*~*~

When he wakes, Jared isn’t in bed with him. Instead, the long-limbed wookie is curled in the only chair that the room provides, head hung uncomfortably backwards so it’s resting against a shelf. He’s snoring a little, but the traffic outside drowns it out.

Jensen takes the time to observe him.

Jared’s wearing – like he’s done yesterday when he picked him up and like he’s done nearly their whole lives together – loose black pants that fit comfortably and leave room to move, bend and stretch. On his feet are white running-shoes that look worn out and are yet, Jensen knows, the most expensive thing in his possession.

He knows because he’s wearing a slightly smaller pair of that himself. Less worn, too, since he hasn’t been able to wear them in prison.

Over the back of the chair hangs Jay’s suit-jacket, a different material than his pants, chosen for the color and not for design. Black, of course. He’s wearing a white, loose, cotton-shirt, perfect for every weather and not as expensive as this outdoor-functional-shit they’ve invented recently and put into every piece of fabric that wasn’t able to run away.

It’s such a familiar sight. They both have looked the same since … well, since forever, really. Maybe a shrink would frown and think it too co-dependent, the two of them dressing the same, behaving the same and doing the same all through their childhood and beyond. And maybe he’d be right with that, maybe it is unhealthy but it’s the way they are, the way they live and nobody will dictate that, not where it counts.

When he moves, the bed-springs creak and Jared shoots up, startled. Or well, he falls on his ass in between the door and the chair and has to unscramble his limbs as carefully as he can. Jensen would help him, but he can’t move.

He’s laughing too hard.

After Jared managed to sort himself out and reach upright-status, his hair is disheveled and his sunglasses are sitting crookedly on his nose. He pushes them up on his head and grins. “Yeah, laugh all you want. You’ll be the one to live with me moaning about my back all through the day. Did you sleep ok?”

“Yeah, like a baby,” Jensen chuckles in response “your snores are better than whale-songs for falling asleep.”

“I don’t snore!” Jared protests but his smile is belying his outraged tone. “Hungry? Let’s go get something to eat. Oh, and you have to talk to your parole-officer. Whickert or something.”

“Ugh. I hate those fuckers. And that name isn’t ominous at all. Coffee first, though.” he smacks his lips and frowns “You got a toothbrush? It feels like I ate a cat last night.”

“You smell like it, too. So better get a shower while you’re brushing your teeth. It’s the luxury-variety.” he smirks sardonically and wriggles his eyebrows “It has a lock.”

Jensen is laughing all the way across the dirty hallway to the bathroom, still snickering when he shoves the pimply kid out of the way when he reaches it and still snorting while he hears the kid moan about him being an ass and that he needs to pee so badly.

The shower is hot, dribble-y, there’s mold in the edges and it smells stale and like old men. Jensen is all on his own, locked in. It’s heaven.

~*~*~*~

“I’m hungry,” he proclaims the second he opens the door to Jared’s closet-room. He’s decided to skip the call to that whicker-man and get something to bite first. He’s not sure what they can get, though. Judging from Jay’s accommodation, the money is a bit tight. His own wealth is limited to the sixty cent he had with him when they booked him and the cigarettes he managed to scrounge and cheat and win from the other inmates have been left with someone who needed them more. It’s not like they were worth something outside. Neither he nor Jay smoke.

Jared’s happy to oblige. He’s the one who needs food more than Jensen anyway. He’s way too skinny and unlike him, he’s not been fed three times a day by the state these last two years.

They have to remedy that.

~*~*~*~

“So, what’cha got planned now?” Jared asks while chewing on the surprisingly good bagel that they bought at the “Yesterday”-bakery. The goods are only slightly stale and the salami and cheese and tomatoes that were over the expiration-date are still perfectly fine. Only the lettuce looks a bit sad, but compared to the sloppy food from prison, it’s nearly a feast. Jensen’s tired of not being allowed to chew his meals.

“Nothing, why?” He really doesn’t like the gleam in Jay’s eyes.

“Oh, well… I thought we go check on the Sisters? They said they wanted to see you when you got out – they really did all they could to help you.”

Yeah, Jensen really doubts that. Everyone kept saying he was the bad influence that turned poor, innocent Jared crooked. As if! The kid was a master-deceiver way before Jensen turned up in his life, only difference was that nobody believed in his own puppy-eyes like they did in Jay’s.

“Oh man…”

“Please?” Oh no. No no no no no! He won’t fall for those big, innocent manga-eyes. He won’t! “Puleeease, Jens…”

Fuck.

~*~*~*~

The Sisters of Her Devine Mercy opened the orphanage shortly after establishing their order. As the story goes, two infants had been thrown over the high fence one night and luckily landed on the compost-heap and therefore weren’t injured. The legend, of course, goes that the Holy Mother had caught the little ones and placed them safely on the ground.

Whichever is true, fact is that the orphanage is one of the oldest in the city. Same as the sisters, Jensen always thought.

Even though he didn’t care for their strict and straightforward upbringing, he can’t help the feeling of ‘home’ spreading in his guts when Jay steers the clunky old car into the neighborhood.

It’s set right on the outskirts of the city, once a proud, lonely building but now one of many in an area that’s being ‘developed’ more and more, destroying the open fields and turning them into huge-ass parking lots and high-rises for lawyers, bankers and other boring people. Most that have lived here in the time Jensen and Jay were kids have moved away a long time ago, only leaving the ones that are stubborn and old and that don’t have any use for the money they’d be paid if they left.

Much has changed since they have– since Jensen has – been here last, but there are some things he recognizes with fondness.

There, right over the fence, is the garden of Mrs. Petterson. She made the best apple-pie in the whole world, and usually left them to cool on the windowsill. Jay and he had stolen a fair share of them over the years and ever since he was told, it has rankled Jensen a little that their success was not, in fact, due to their stunning smartness and cunning plans, but because she liked them and left the pies outside as a gift.

Jay didn’t mind, though, and laughed about that smart old lady, who’d known that they wouldn’t take it if she’d just given them away. Corrections: Jensen wouldn’t have taken it and Jay would have gone along, out of friendship and whatever it was that made the two of them thick as thieves the moment they met.

And there is the orphanage itself. Big, sturdy, yellow bricks form the base of the iron-fence and make the building look like a set from a horror-flick. The Gothic gargoyles on the roof only amplify that appearance. Two large beeches outside darken the entrance and leave the front-lawn in a state that consists mainly of moss and some die-hard grasses, their shady canopy darkening the ground so much that nothing else can grow there. Hard to believe that this is a place where children play.

If you look closer, though, you see evidence of it. The windows are large and spacious in the main-house and if you know where to focus, you realize they’ve been placed there later than the original windows – the bricks show signs of having been taken out and replaced, so bigger frames would fit. There are old but still working toys at the side of the house and close to the chapel, and an old swing decorates one of the beeches.

The other one’s bark is scrubbed smooth all over the trunk and the lower branches, where generations of parent-less kids have climbed it. Even though Jay and he were hardly the only ones, or the first, to hide in the big tree, Jensen sees with pride that nobody has yet removed the toy-car they’ve hung in the branches up high. It might be wishful thinking but he’ll take it as evidence that nobody else ever climbed that far up.

Scoffing in amusement over his fond memories of their life-threatening tomfoolery, Jensen slows his walk. Man, it’s a wonder they are still breathing and have all limbs attached.

“Come on, man. Don’t dawdle!” Jay interrupts his thoughts. He’s already at the front steps and Jensen hurries to reach him. Long since first coming to this place, Jay has replaced the feeling of dread and loneliness that has made Jensen shiver when he first caught sight of the huge oak-doors with the scary Jesus carved into it. Still, he remembers standing at the bottom of the huge steps, eight years and all alone.

Now as then, Jay’s standing on top of the stairs, grinning down at him, and there’s nothing on or in this building that says ‘home’ like that smile does.

He grins back and takes two steps at a time, sticks his tongue out to Jesus and follows Jay inside into the gloomy hallway.

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

~*~

“Now, Jensen,” Sister Mary Joy looks down from her perch behind the huge oak-table. Her wire-rimmed glasses perch perilously on her thin, short nose, probably held there by her wrinkles. Man, he’d never believed the old bat was still alive if Jay hadn’t told him. He still isn’t too sure about 'alive'. But then again, he never was. “You’re back outside of prison. I’m glad,” yeah, right “and I really hope the time spent there helped you guide you along a different path. The Lord doesn’t approve of the wicked ways.” Jensen clenches his jaw, trying hard to keep the sneer inside.

“Uhm… but didn’t he say something about taking in sinners even though they sinned, and preferring them over the righteous?” Jay asks her and Jensen flinches at the icy spike of disapproval she sends him. Jared, though, is unaffected, like usual.

“That… might be right. But only if they leave the crooked paths they’ve taken and repent their sins.”

“I’m pretty sure Jens repents a lot, Sister,” he smiles, and really, who could ever not notice that Jared’s playing them like a violin? He’s always been able to defend Jensen in his own way, twisting and turning and quoting and questioning the Holy Book in a way that leaves the nuns smitten by this attentive boy.

The boy in question doesn’t waver, and soon, Sister Mary Joy smiles a little and her birdlike features soften. “I’m sure as well, Jared. I’m certain that now he’s back in your influence, you can help him along a straighter path so his way to eternal life will not be too spoiled by the fires of Purgatory.”

Jensen cannot suppress a shiver. All through their lives in the orphanage, the nuns – and especially Sister Mary Joy – have told the kids about Purgatory, very explicitly about the torture they’d have to endure if they didn’t stay on the righteous path. Jensen hated that obvious attempt to scare them into obedience without even touching them or punishing them physically, and he’d shown his disgust openly. It’s probably the main reason why everyone expected him to be the leader of their little group of misfits.

It’s a wrong assumption, but that never bothered him too much. What did bother him was that even though Jay was still happily smiling all through the Purgatory-lessons and even happier led them into adventures, danger and fun, he also cried in the night and often woke from nightmares about fire and death and eternal torment.

And that made Jensen hate the Sisters even more.

He still hasn’t forgiven them – it’s supposed to be a divine virtue, after all and he’s nothing even close to divine. So he just glares back at the obvious attempt to make them feel small and scared. It doesn’t work like it did then and so the sister crooks her mouth in a parody of a smile and looks down at the papers that sit on the old, cheap table.

“Anyway. I’m still grateful that you only turned out to be a harmless villain, and I’m sure if we’d had influenced you earlier in your life…”

“You mean if my parents had died horribly in that car-crash sooner than they did?”

Surprisingly, it shuts her up completely and a look of shame crosses her face. For a moment, she doesn’t look like a bat that made his life harder, but a woman who dedicated her life to raising and caring for children not her own, children left behind, left alone, left unwanted.

For a moment, he can nearly understand why she was so hard on them all and when she looks up, meets his eyes in a silent and unspoken apology, a sort of understanding passes between them.

And Jared, that little bitch, is smiling like it was his plan all along.

“So, anyway, Sister. We just wanted to thank you for all you did, all the help you sent us – Jensen – and we just wanted to tell how much we regret that Sister Mary Clare isn’t among us anymore.”

Jensen shoots a look at Jared at that. Clare is dead? She was the youngest, fittest of all the nuns and the one who’s always had that spark of mischief in her eyes, who very pointedly looked the other way when she spotted Jensen standing guard for Jay’s little nightly forays into the kitchen.

“Yes, it’s a regretful loss to us. Still, I’m sure that she’s better off where she is now.” How can she say that and smile?

“Oh yes. I’m sure her husband treats her in the way she deserves.” Jared grins and either this is a very bad aphorism for Jesus, or the two are talking about…

“She married?”

“Yes, didn’t I tell you? Oh, no. that was only last week, and there was so much more important stuff to do, talk to the lawyer and all that. Sorry, I should have mentioned it.”

“No.” Jensen shakes his head “No, it’s fine. But wow, I’m really happy for her. She wa… is a wonderful woman.” At the reproachful look from Mary Joy, he hurries to explain “in a pure, uh… wonderful way. Nothing sexual,” he winces mentally “ … fu… shi… Dam… oh, uh… you know. Ma’am.”

The silence is near suffocating.

~*~*~*~

They leave soon after, just when the younger kids come back from their kindergarten-time. The hallway is full of talking little munchkins, but there are still noticeably less of them than Jensen remembers.

“It’s a pity.” Jay interrupts Jensen’s observation of two young boys very earnestly arguing about who is cooler, Batman or Spiderman. “Soon all these kids will go to the state.”

“What? Why?”

“Money.” Jay answers, and Jensen can’t say that he doesn’t understand. Money was always tight with the order, and the orphanage has been a thorn in the developers’ side for a while now. Still, it really is a shame if they now have to give up, after struggling valiantly for so long.

“Let’s go.” he says and they leave.

~*~*~*~

“So.” They’re back in the car, a few minutes away from the orphanage, stuck in traffic like any self-respecting citizen. “How much are they in dept?”

It’s not that he really cares, Jensen tells himself. He’s just curious. Why should he care about the kids who live there, of the friends that will get separated when they are split among the state-homes for children. Why should he? He’s out of there, and it wasn’t even the best of times in there. Sure, there was fun to be had, but every rule they broke was one that was put there in the first place.

No swearing, no running. Always wear good clothes, never have dirty fingernails, don’t talk too loud, don’t read ‘bad books’, don’t think dirty, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t.

So many rules, so many punishments when they broke them. Sure, they turned out to be ok, kinda. But still… It was even worse before Sister Mary Joy took over, when the Old Hag was still big boss.

Haggernathy had a cruel streak; even though she never hit any of the kids, she was sharp-tongued and harsh and let them be hungry when they misbehaved or had them stand in a corner for hours, or worse. He will never forgive her for making him wet his pants because she refused to let him leave the corner.

He’d stood in the corner kind of a lot.

Then again, he grins, apart from peeing his pants, everything they’d done was worth the punishment.

Still. He doesn’t care about what happens to the nuns. He’s not even catholic, for fucks sake!

“They already got a mortgage and a bank-loan. Except, they need a security-deposit of at least hundred thousand dollars so the bank will agree on the deal.” Jensen gasps. Hundred thousand dollars! “They got most of it from donations and stuff, but there’s still twenty-thousand bucks missing.” Jared doesn’t look over at him, focused on the traffic – or more probably inward, where his sweet spot for the nuns is hidden.

“Fuck!” Jensen says with feeling, and really, what else could you say to that.

~*~*~*~

“I don’t suppose there’s internet here in this… house?” he asks later that day, back in the crappy closet. Jay’s on the bed this time with Jensen, legs entangled and shoulders brushing. Their black jackets hang over the little hook on the doorway, and it’s really disconcerting to see Jared’s sleeves poke out under his own. The kid’s four years younger, dammit!

“Nope. Also, I had to sell the laptop. But there’s a coffee-shop with computers just down the street. You gonna call the probation-man now?”

Jensen tries to ignore the pitiful Bambi-look but he really isn’t that tough. Sighing, he drops his shoulders and prepares to leave “Yeah, I better.”

“Where’re you goin’?”

“Uh… phone?”

Jared laughs and moves down the bed on his ass so he can reach over to the door. “Why not take the cell?”

Blushing, probably, Jensen snatches the little phone from Jay’s hand. He knows there are cell phones. He hasn’t been in prison that long! It’s just something you kinda forget if you don’t use it anymore.

Jared reads him the number and when the line opens to a whisky-sour voice, Jensen already knows that this is gonna be a bad, bad idea. He later can’t remember what exactly was said, but the gist was that Mr. Wicked is a snobby asshole who sneered and mocked Jensen all through the ten-minute conversation until he is ready to insult right back.

Luckily, Jay takes the phone away before he can follow his desire and get all sarcastic on that ass. He’d probably end up in prison faster than he can spell it.

“He’ll be there. Yes… Yes… Yes.., I’ll make sure. Thank you so much for your patience, sir.” Nobody on the other end of the phone would think Jay anything but polite, friendly and a hundred percent honest. Jensen, though, has to bite in his shirtsleeve to not guffaw loudly, which would have been unwise in such a small room. Jared is making disgusted faces, sticks his tongue out and rolls his eyes every time the parole-officer is speaking, clearly showing what he really thinks about his attitude. The most amazing thing about Jay, though, is that he can bullshit people like this even face to face. Jensen, it seems, is genetically incapable of being polite to people he dislikes.

It would have made his life a hell of a lot harder if Jared hadn’t adopted him right from the start.

“What a pompous asshole.” Jay sneers when the call is ended and holds the phone away from him as if it might poison him or bite. “You got an appointment next week. Ten o’clock, Monday. Don’t be late.”

“Yeah, I won’t. Now – internet? Coffee?”

~*~*~*~

Sadly, Jensen’s got no e-mails waiting for him that don’t offer him a penis-enlargement or fake tits or tell him he’s won “in teh LottTery of Lusianna.” It’s a little sad, but then again, he tells himself, all their friends knew that he was in prison, so who’d write him e-mail? Jay wrote him letters, every day, tried to keep him up to date on what’s going on outside and all. He’s started every one with “Obama’s still President.” and even though it was a bit silly, if not annoying, Jensen’s thrived to see that line in his mail.

Jay spends some time tinkering with his own account, then they drive across the city to where his work is waiting.

It’s still over an hour till his shift starts so they take the long and familiar way: along the outside – or is it inside? – of the large walls that line the highway, across dirt-paths full of rubbish and along dry, scraggly grass, nettles and thistles. Here and there, young birches and poplars raise their skinny twigs in the air, fighting for every bit of soil. Water from last week’s downpour sprays whenever Jared drives through one of the deep puddles.

It’s a desolate place, not even the homeless choose it for their ramshackle-cardboard-homes. Too loud, too open, too wet for them, and too far away from any kind of help should someone decide to test his new, steel-capped boots.

It’s not without humans, though you can’t see them at this time of the day. But the walls, huge, endless white-grey areas begging for some attention, are completely covered in paint and pictures, nearly unreadable tags and names and symbols.

Sprayers have conquered this place, coming alone or in groups to leave something behind, some reminder of their existence and proof of life.

Nobody knows how many layers there are, or who started it. Nobody knows who’ll end it – if it ever will. When Jay and Jensen laid eyes on this the first time, the walls had already been colorful displays of art and the boys had been stunned. Jay had been the first to grab a discarded can of paint and started to spray his name, but Jensen had been too mesmerized, had needed time to take everything in.

While Jared had already been a quick, smart painter, leaving throw-ups all over, Jensen had observed. It took a month until he’d taken – actually bought it – his own can, and then some more time until he’d first used it.

It had been worth it, though. It was a small panel, only two colors, but with amazing flow of shades and edges. Even if Jensen isn’t the kind to openly brag about it, he’s extraordinary proud of it. You can still see it, right next to one of the older birches, whose branches he used to climb high enough so it wouldn’t be killed too fast.

If he’s ever asked, Jensen will tell them that he’s been addicted to the nozzle the moment he’d first seen the Hall of Fame they’re passing now. Nobody ever asked, though, and everyone - except Jay - who knows him or of him would say that this first panel was what pulled him over.

Who cares, anyway.

Spraying has put him in prison, or, well, was the reason he’s been there. Damage of public property and sadly, an accident on the streets he was crossing when running from the police had raised his sentence. Jared had been scouting and felt incredibly guilty for not warning him earlier of the cops. There was no blame, though. It could’ve happened to anyone.

Just bad luck and crappy timing.

On the outskirts of the wall, right before they have to leave its proximity or the car will be stuck, Jensen spots something new.

Well, of course the whole wall is covered in ‘new’, some pieces interesting, a lot of them obviously made by toys. But this is different. It’s not a name, or at least not any name he knows. And even though they both have stopped spraying after Jensen went inside – something that’s caused a hell of a lot of angry words on the phone when Jay told him – you can never really leave it behind. So this oneliner grabs his attention for its unique and unusual style.

Before he can make out what it says, though, the wall’s behind them and turning in the seat doesn’t help.

“What?” Jay asks and for a second, Jensen contemplates making him turn around. But it’s already close to half past four, and Jared has to at work in thirty minutes. He’ll just come back and check it out alone, Jensen decides and shakes his head.

~*~*~*~

The time Jay spends in the factory producing canned cheese, of all things, is wasted away by walking the streets. He could’ve taken the Dodge, but it’s probably better to not drive a police-cruiser inside the city if you want to avoid attention. Somehow, only Jay can pull that stunt. As a bonus, you can actually walk around with a coffee much better than driving a car with it. Once burned, twice shy is, in this case, a very accurate saying.

Jensen tries to get back to the Hall of Fame, but he’s distracted by the sheer amount of graffiti in the factory-district. It’s crude, most of it, lacking the certain something that makes for a masterpiece, but then again, nobody’s born a king. Here and there, he can make out an artist that will actually be someone in a few years, if they keep it up. Jensen’s always been good at spotting quality, which is one reason he was so pissed at Jay for stopping his art.

Jared was good. Not a king , not yet, but a goddamn great knight. He had style, was able to give feeling into the throw-ups and pieces he did, and it’s a damn shame to let it go to waste just because his friend wasn’t fast enough to dodge the cops.

Jay said it was because he didn’t want to get caught, not while he was working on getting Jensen out early, and fuck yes, that made sense. Still, it rankled and hurt in some way, like Jared was abandoning something inexplicably theirs, something that made them special, made them more than just two skinny little orphaned street-rats.

But that’s one thing Jared never understood, and probably never will. He never cared what people thought, never cared about the lifetime a piece of his would have. For Jay, it’s the joy of creating and painting, often his last throw-up is already forgotten once he starts the next. It’s about fun, about forgetting or about dreaming.

Jensen has always valued the time it stayed on, the years it kept on the surface. Some of his pieces are still up. Not all, of course, but a lot of them. He loves each and every one, has taken days to think them out and draw them in his black book so they’d fit the surface they were meant for, suit the neighborhood and cause people to notice, look, think. And he feels a sense of accomplishment when he sees other sprayers respecting his work and seeing other graffiti that’s clearly been inspired by his.

Jared and he are so damn different it’s a wonder they fit like they do. On the other hand, they both love spraying, both love running, both have an admirable disregard for rules – even though Jared’s much better at bending them instead of breaking. Or, at least make it look like he’s just bending.

~*~*~*~

While Jensen scouts the new talents, tries to recognize the ones that will be names one day, he comes across the same weird tag that he’d seen earlier. It’s a word, he realizes.

dr1sco3d3on

It doesn’t make sense. He’s never heard of someone called driscoedeon, or driscoe, or any other form of that word, and even though this city is big, the sprayers kinda know each other. Not always personally, but by reputation.

It could be a new pawn, but this doesn’t seem like a first-timer. It reads too smart, the flow of the letters and numbers too deliberate to be made by someone just testing his skills.

Searching for more clues, though, doesn’t get him anywhere so an hour later, Jensen decides to check the papers for a job.

If Jay’s working, there’s no way he’s gonna stay home. It seems the two of them are going to be respectable from now on.

Jensen sighs heavily at the thought.

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

~*~

“You seen this, Jens?”

They’re back in the Internet-café, Jay checking stuff while Jensen’s still got the paper to work through. He long ago abandoned the job-offers, all of them sound too boring to even try. He might have to, but right now he’s not in the mood for even thinking about flipping burgers.

“What?”

“Well, there’s this quiz on quickart. I thought maybe you’ve checked there … Wondered if you can figure it out.” Jared is looking at him expectantly, just like he always does when there’s a puzzle to solve. It’s not that Jay can’t do it himself, most times, but he’s pretty lazy and well, maybe Jensen really is a little smarter for those things. He can’t help it – he likes to read and his brain is like a sponge for useless information.

“I thought you gave up?” he asks, though, because quickart.grafics.com is a site for sprayers, a community for chatting, giving and receiving tips for location, arts, conceptions and warnings for new cameras or heightened surveillance. It’s fun in there, and they’ve both been active members for a long time.

Part of Jensen’s probation-agreement is that he’s not allowed to get anywhere near a can or he’ll be back inside. Sure, he knew he’d never be able to quit it just like that, but he’d figured he’d be smarter and it would take longer than a day for him to get back into the scene.

He contemplates the need to get a new name, now that he was in prison but dismisses it. The piece for which he was busted wasn’t finished, and nobody was able to pin more than that on him. He rolls his chair closer and rests his head on Jared’s shoulder so he can look at the screen.

”What is there and new and shiny? Twist twice around the second three, what you get put in the box, then c and p”

“Huh. What’s this about?”

“I dunno. It’s been up for a few weeks, but it has a timer.” Jared points at a little clock that’s counting down. Only two more days for whatever that is. “You got a clue?”

“Hm” Jensen hums, fumbles for a paper and pen and jots down a word. “Twist it twice around the second three.” He scribbles, then shoves Jared away and takes the mouse, clicks in the box and types ‘3d3ondr1sco’. He holds his breath, finger hovering over ‘Enter’ and nearly squeaks when Jared just grabs his wrist and pushes his finger down.

A second window opens, with a mile-long combination of letters and numbers. He copies it and pastes the code in the first window, where the little box is empty again.

They both moved so close to the screen that they scream out when suddenly, the whole thing seems to explode in color.

A huge graffiti-drawing spreads out, wildstyle. It takes a bit to realize what it says.

“Paint Wars begins. 10/20/2011. Sign up where the arrow leads you.”

Indeed, there is a link hidden underneath one of the huge, aggressive arrows and it leads them to a form where they can enter their email-addresses.

“Kind of a big deal if they wanna sell us a washing-machine.” Jared jokes while he types his and Jensen’s contact-information as well as their street-names. It doesn’t bother Jensen in the slightest that it’s his old name – he’s got credibility and fame sticking to it, and it took a fucking long time to get it.

“And what now?”

“Guess we wait for an email?”

Jensen goes for more coffee while Jay refreshes his mail-account every two seconds. It might be better to come back later, smarter. Most sprayers are nocturnal, and it’s still early, but Jensen’s pretty sure Jared isn’t that patient.

~*~*~*~

Two hours and six coffees later, Jensen is jittery and pink dots are blinking at the side of his vision. Jared’s still glued to the screen, playing solitaire of all things and hitting the ‘check mails’-button only every five seconds. It’s progress, at least.

“Jay, come on. The mail will be there tomorrow. C’mon, the guys are staring at us like we’re crazy. I don’t want them to call the cops.” The clerk and his friend aren’t really interested in them, but Jared wouldn’t know that anyway.

“Yeah, yeah. Just this one game.”

It’s been ‘this one game’ for at least forty minutes, and Jensen’s tired and grouchy. He’s read through the whole newspaper, even looked over the stock-news like he’s got anything invested. Like they got anything they could invest. There are some old mags lying around, but those hadn’t captured his attention for longer than it took to leaf through the colorful pages.

Dresses, hairstyles, clothing, boybands. He’s lingered a bit at the singer of that last topic but quickly closed the magazine when he saw his age. Jesus, what kind of person prints pictures like that of a sixteen-year old!

Since there was nothing like Can Control, he’d just observed the other customer – one guy with a hopeful expression on his pimply face and Jensen’s been imagining about his reasons for that for a while now.

He’s not gotten further than ‘girlfriend in China’ and ‘dating-service’.

“Yeah….” Jared sighs, finally. Jensen turns just in time to see Jay hit the ‘print’-button and after too long in his crappy seat, he’s eager to spring up and get the page. Jared’s shut down his computer when he returns, collecting the used mugs and napkins for the donut they’ve shared and ready to leave. Jay’s considerate like that.

~*~*~*~

“So?” Jensen’s on their bed, tired but wired. After that amount of effort they spent and the fucking long time waiting, he’s curious. “What’sit say?”

“Ah, now you wanna know? Mr. Let’s Wait til Tomorrow?”

“Fuck you!” With a growl, Jensen lunges over to his friend and tries to grab the print but Jay jumps off the bed and holds the paper high in the air where it nearly touches the ceiling. It’s on, now, and a few minutes later, they lie panting across the disheveled bed, hair in disarray, sunglasses thrown off somewhere behind or underneath the table, a neighbor banging on the thin wall so the photograph of him and Jared as kids on the big beech-tree is rattling dangerously and Jensen’s got his boxers riding up his crack.

Since he’d returned the favor, he’s pretty sure that Jay has the same problems, at least.

“Meany.” Jay pants but grins so wide that even a blind man would know he doesn’t mean it. “You got some skills in prison?”

“Sure did, asshole. I had to fight off all those lonely gang-members.” Eye-roll. Nothing like that happened, he wasn’t in with real hard-timers and he’s been able to keep to himself pretty much. He’d always been good at fighting dirty, he just never really did with Jay. “It must be you who brings out the best in me.”

Jared laughs, and the neighbor bangs against the wall again. It’s an amazing laugh. Sighing, Jensen shoves Jay’s heavy limbs from his stomach and tries to get his pants and shirt in some kind of order again. He’s not really fashion-conscious, but all those wrinkles are really uncomfortable. Especially the one against his crotch.

“Man, you tore it.”

Turning, he sees Jared fitting the two pieces of the mail back together again so it’s readable. “Yeah, like I did that all by myself.” Really, sticking his tongue out is so mature. Jensen does it too.

“Ok, it’s not so bad. Uhm…” Jared scans the page, his eyes growing wider and Jensen’s patience running lower with each word.

“What?”

“Uh.. ok. It’s a call for a battle. But not just any, an open battle. Any crew who deciphered the riddle can participate. The rules will be posted on a special site – they’ll send the link once the deadline runs out.”

That sounds… cool. Not that it would be smart to do some shit like that, not so close to his release, but Jensen can already feel his finger twitch in memory of pressing a nozzle, his mind already creating scenes inside his head, color-flow and messages. All the stuff he never got to do is trying to dig itself out and to the forefront, wants to be finally real, and even though it really, really isn’t smart, he knows, can feel it in his bones: they’re gonna do it. There is no way Jay would back from a challenge, and there is no way Jensen can keep all his creativity inside.

“-dollar!”

“What?” the last word got his attention again, and he’s back inside the dirty little room, not in front of a blank brickwall anymore with heaps of spray-cans at his feet and a grinning Jared next to him. Jay looks at him, a small, private smile on his lips like he knows exactly where Jensen’s head has been at just seconds ago.

He probably does.

“It has a prize. Someone set an award of fifty-thousand dollars on it. And the possibility of working for a gallery and selling the stuff they spray.” Jensen frowns. He never thought about it, but he’s not as opposed to spraying for money, doing graffiti for hire, as a lot of the guys and girls out there are. Why should he be against making money with what he loves? Wait…what?

“What? Fifty-thousand bucks? Holy Fuck!”

“Holy fuck indeed! Jens, with that kind of money, we could help the sisters get the loan. We could help keep the orphanage running. And there’d be something left for us, for getting …I dunno, maybe more paint?”

Of course Jay would think about paint. They were staying in a fucking shoe-box, and Jared’s first thought would be for getting more spray.

Sure, Jensen’s been thinking about how much they could buy with some of the money, but not all of it and…

“And of course a better apartment.” It’s weirdly nice to hear that there is more capacity in Jared’s head than for just mischief and graffiti. Not much, but a little bit.

“You think? I was just starting to like it.”

“Right.”

“…so, we’re doing that?”

“You crazy? Of course we will! Oh… uhm, if you think… if you don’t want to, I mean, with the prison and all… we could maybe … I dunno, not do it?”

“Jay, stop thinking. You’ll hurt yourself. Of course we do it! As if I could stay away from that.”

~*~*~*~

The website with the rules is open the next day. Not wanting to test their luck, Jensen and Jared have chosen a different web-café this time, a little further away.

It’s pretty clear:

\- Anyone who signed in is allowed to participate with a crew of not more than four others or alone.

\- Crews are allowed to merge, but remember: there is only one pot for the winners. So sharing is the deal.

\- The participants are given complete creative freedom

\- Anyone who gets caught by the police has to deal with it on their own – and would be kindly asked to not tell them about the competition.

\- The jury is anonymous, and sworn to absolute secrecy. It consists of seven people, sprayers, ex-sprayers, art-dealers, art-professors and designers. It’s not said how many of what profession.

\- The jury will decide at the end of the competition and declare the winner at a place that’s not yet named.

\- The jury’s decision will be based on: creativity, use of color, use of style, size, amount of details, placement and overall execution.

\- Rollcall is a must! Every member of the crew has to be named or the piece will be decided as to be incomplete

\- Please name your crew within thirty-eight hours of getting this e-mail.

\- Every member of the crew has sixty hours to declare his or her willingness to participate.

\- Every finished piece has to be photographed as a whole. Details aren’t necessary, but size and location has to be visible.

\- Crossing out other names will lead to permanent and swift disqualification!

\- Going over someone else’s piece will lead to permanent and swift disqualification!

\- Taking credit for pieces not done by themselves will lead to permanent and swift disqualification!

\- Slamming is highly encouraged.

The War starts one hour after final sign-up for the crews. Meaning sixty-one hours after you receive this e-mail. Meaning Monday, 20th, ten at night.

The War ends on Monday, 27th, ten in the morning. We won't accept anything sent to us after that time. Award-ceremony will take place at given place on given time, but no more than a week later.

Nobody will know where, when and how the jury will come and look at the art. They could be everywhere and anytime – right behind you!

~*~*~*~

“Whew… Do we need a crew? Or are we flying solo?”

In every other situation, with any other person, the sentence ‘are we flying solo’ would be weird. Seeing that two people can't be 'solo'. Not with them, though.

“I think we should ask at least two more. We’d need scouts, we can’t hit that many places at once if we’re only two. Some locations I got in mind, we’d need at least two painters, so… yeah. See if you get some of the old crew together – maybe some haven’t signed up and wouldn’t say no to a bit of money.” Jensen says, already distractedly scribbling in his black book. He’s got ideas swarming his head, words, wildstyle, characters, scenes. From the amused chuckle, he assumes Jay recognizes his state but the desire to shove him is not enough to stop sketching.

~*~*~*~

It’s always been like this when they prepared for a big piece. Jensen sketches, thinks, plans where he wants to put the art, and Jared cares about logistics, security and equipment. If you think about it, it all started in the orphanage.

Sure, Jay was the one to plead at Jensen to come along, was the one to shove him from the roof into the pile of hay that time at the farm or the one to just start running and dragging Jensen along with the force of his personality. An uninformed, smart observer would’ve always seen Jay as the one to start mischief and only get out of it because he had his cute face and bright smile and these innocent eyes.

Which – while not entirely wrong – would lead to the wrong conclusion that Jensen is the innocent follower, who then gets to be the fall-guy. But while the nuns weren’t really right in blaming Jensen for most of the mess they got caught in, they weren’t completely off-course. More often than not, it has been Jensen’s idea, Jensen’s dream to do it. He’s been the one to stare at the big tree for hours, dreaming about reaching the canopy and hiding in the branches from people who want him to be something he’s not. But he’d have never done it by himself. It took tiny, six-year old Jay taking the first leap up, reaching the lowest big ranch and grinning down at Jensen to shake every ‘what if…’ that has been stuck in his head and that had him tethered to the ground.

Meeting Jared was like meeting the key to his lock. Wow, that sounds kinky… but it’s the best analogy he can come up with. Jared unlocked what has been there all along, and Jensen is sure – no, more, he’s certain – that if Jared hadn’t been there, he’d have been the most miserable child in the whole orphanage. There was nobody else who ever captured him like Jared did. Still does.

So now, Saturday, they’re cruising the streets in the old clunky car, Jared checking the buildings and taking a first look at the security while Jensen’s once again buried in sketches. He can’t quite keep up with what his brain is screaming at him to do, and he sometimes curses out loud when his fingers cramp up around the pencil or his hand is too slow to draw what his eyes want to see. Jay just chuckles on these occasions, and sometimes points out possible locations for a piece. He takes notes, more meticulous than he’s ever been in school and nods his head to an old Linkin Park-album that is screaming along nicely in the stereo.

While they both have a deep dislike for the new LP-songs, the old stuff’s still awesome.

“So, I was thinking Mad Mohawk, Lilibeth and Kermit. Or maybe Silly Silence? Wow, did you know the names were so weird when we heard them the first time?”

“Yes,” Jensen mutters around the pencil in his mouth “I always thought Lilibeth was a fucking crazy name.”

Jared chuckles. “So, what about them?”

“What about them?”

“You think they’d do?”

With a sigh, Jensen shoves the creative chaos inside his brain and sticks the pencil in the pocket of his white shirt. He thinks for a moment, scratches his head and frowns.

“Well, they’re good. But what’s wrong with the old crew?”

Silence.

“Jay?”

“Well…” now it’s Jared’s turn to scratch his head. He rubs his forehead and sets the blinker and Jensen lets him take the turn before shoving him to get him back on track. “… yeah, we kinda had a falling-out.”

“Falling out? How? They fucking loved you, Jay!”

“I think they weren’t really happy with me stopping?”

“Fuck. Of course they weren’t! I wasn’t, but we still didn’t have a falling out!”

“That’s different!”

“How? How is it different?”

“You were in fucking prison, man! I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t just leave you there, no way! And well… you’re you. We always disagree anyway, it would be weird if we suddenly were on the same page.”

“Jay, that’s a load of bullshit. We never disagree!”

“Yes we do!”

“When? Gimme dates, occasions, places. Huh?”

“… you wanted a burger and I wanted pizza. You nearly tore my head off!”

Jensen stares at his friend, who’s busy avoiding his eyes. “Seriously? Man, that’s so lame, a turtle would overtake it.”

“Turtles are pretty fast. At least the small ones. And in the water…”

Jensen can’t help it. He snorts very unmanly and is rewarded with a small smile and a tentative look from the corner of Jared’s eye.

“Right, ok. So, all that’s wrong with the crew is that you had a little disagreement and you lost touch?” Jay nods and wipes at his neck, bringing the collar of his black jacket in disarray. Jensen reaches over and straightens it, then shoves his shoulder. “So call them. Ask if they wanna go along. Or give me their number if you’re too scared to grovel in front of them.”

“Don’t need their number. They’re still at Goldi’s every other night. I’m pretty sure.”

“Let me guess,” Jensen sighs “you didn’t go to Goldi’s in the last two years?” When Jared looks away, he nods to himself. “Yeah, ‘s what I thought. So you put yourself in solitary just because I was so stupid to run in front of a car?”

He doesn’t really expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one. Honestly, it’s what he thought would happen anyway. No matter how sparkling Jared’s personality is, no matter how much he needs Jared to pull him out of his sarcastic funks, without Jensen, Jay’s just as lost. While Jared draws people in, it’s Jensen who keeps them tethered.

Maybe ‘co-dependency’ isn’t the right term anymore. Symbiosis. That's the word.

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

~*~

“Fuck, look who’s deemed us worthy to visit, Crop” the guy in the baggy jeans and puke-green shirt sneers when Jared steps into the gloomy bar.

The walls are covered over and over in graffiti, mostly skate-themed pieces but some wildstyle words and a huge copy of the amazing script from a wall in San Francisco, done in complementary colors. It’s smaller than the original, stretching opposite the entrance so everyone who steps in is immediately hooked by its force. Jensen feels his breath hitch and he can’t take in anything beside this graffiti.

He never could.

“Aye, but look what he brought with ‘im.” The grin on the long, thin face of Cropper is infectious and true, and he slides out of his booth and over to Jensen and Jay. “Dude, welcome back along the living.” Crop slaps Jensen’s chest with the back of his hand, affection in his eyes when he looks up at him. “You look exactly like the last time we seen ya, only worse.”

Jensen ducks away and snips Cropper's cap from his head, astonished when it doesn’t reveal a mop full of locks. “Aww, thanks for caring so much about me, Crop. You, though, look awful as always, if it weren’t for the hair. Where did it go? You sell it to the boy-scouts so they can tie a rope with it?”

“He lost a bet, that boy.” comes the honey-sweet voice from the billard-tables, and when he looks over, a curvy, small girl with bright blue hair sashays across the floor. “He said Spock, McCoy and Kirk went camping in Star Trek IV, the idiot.” Jensen feels Jay flinch next to him. If they’ve learned one important thing in their lives, it’s that you never-ever doubt Blue Lou when it comes to anything Sci-Fi. She’s got a wicked memory for that crap.

“Baby, I only let you win” Crop coos but while she lets him kiss her temple, she rolls her eyes. As if anyone would believe Crop would ever part from his long brown curly hair voluntarily. Blue slinks over to them, rises on her tiptoes and slips her tongue into Jensen’s mouth.

It’s a good kiss, something he used to love. But he can feel Jay tense behind him and he knows that whatever there was between them is over. She didn’t even call him once, anyway.

A sad smirk plays on her lips when she parts from his mouth, maybe a little guilt but Jensen’s not really keen on analyzing that. She’s always been a strange girl, never let herself be pinned down. If she ever gets real with a man, it won’t be Jensen – and they both know it. Have known it for a long time, if they were honest.

“So, what brings you here?” Tom has stayed at his spot during the reunion, not leaving the bar against which he’s leaning, arms crossed over his thin chest. He’s got a cast on his arm and for a minute, Jensen fears he won’t be able to participate. Then he remembers that Tommy got his name – ‘Bones‘ – from skating in competition with a broken fibula.

He won.

“We want the crew back together.”

“Right,” Bones sneers “you’re out and suddenly we’re good enough again for Woody here”

“Dude…” Jared starts but Jensen interrupts him, stalks over to his friend and grabs his shirt.

“Listen up, Bonesey. Listen good. I was in prison for two years. You know how many people came visit?” Tom has the decency to look away, his blue eyes shameful “Right. Exactly one. So maybe you shouldn’t be asking if Woody is good enough for you. Maybe you should be asking how you are still good enough for us!”

He’s only whispered, but from the silence of the room, he gathers it wasn’t low enough. Before Bones can apologize, Jensen shoves away from him and swallows. He isn’t really pissed, never really thought anyone of their friends would come. Still… it’s only fair to say it out loud, he thinks and from the proud look he gets from Jared, Jay’s thinking the same.

“I really don’t want an apology, explanation, whatever. It’s ok, I never expected you to come. We’re not here for that, anyway. Where are the others?”

Blue speaks up, curled around Crop. “Ducky’s working. Her dad told her she either gets a job or he’ll cut her pocket-money. She’ll come by later, though. ‘round ten-ish,” It’s six-thirty. The bar just opened.

“Yeah, and Robin’s probably with his band. They’re getting real good.” Crop butts in. Jensen nearly asks about Spider but remembers that Matthew broke his neck when he fell off the bridge he was decorating. Jay told him, and he’d spent a silent tear in his cell later, remembering the fun he used to have with the wiry little guy. Matt 'Spider' Murphy had just turned twenty.

The whole bar seems to get what he’s not asking, the room full of sadness and loss. Jared clears his throat and walks over to the counter and Jensen rubs his hand over his face. Before anyone can say anything, a slim black woman steps in from the side-door, a wooden box with liquor in her arms, and interrupts the subdued atmosphere.

“Holy hell, Jack-my-boy.” she yells, drops the box on the shelf with a clang, grips his shirt and pulls him over to grab his face. “You’re looking too thin – didn’t they feed you inside?”

“Nope, Golds. They tried to starve the badness outta me.” Jensen grins and she kisses him on the forehead, like his mom used to do once upon a time. She’s still smiling when she shoves him back and snorts.

“There ain’t an inch of badness inside you, buddy. Not in any of you. Woody, come here right now! You’re not turning up here years later and not get a good hug from me. That ain’t my way and never was.”

Reluctantly, Jay steps over and around the counter and lets her have her ways. They both know it’s no way out anyway.

“You’re even thinner than Jack. WILLIE!” she yells and Jared winces from the volume. “Willie, get outta here and look at them Brothers, here. And go get them some food, pronto!”

Willie Hall steps out, grumbling about ‘freaking woman can’t make up her mind’ but smiles happily when he recognizes Jared and Jensen. The big man looks more like a bodyguard than a cook, but that’s what he is and a pretty decent one at that. Quickly, he disappears again and soon after the smells of fries and steak drift all through the room.

~*~*~*~

One by one, more folks arrive, filling Goldi’s with life, banter, talk and the faint smell of aerosol. It’s a well-known place for sprayers and skaters, the half-pipe in the back luring them in, the beer, liquor and cooking keeping them hooked.

Jensen and Jared sit with their friends in the big booth right next to the emergency-exit, shooting the shit and updating on their lives. It’s a rather short subject for Jensen – been in prison, got out – and Jay’s time without him seems to have been even more boring. Got a job, produce cheese in cans, boss is nice, co-workers boring but ok.

Alan Rubin, or Robin as they all call him, arrived last, still smelling faintly of sweat and smoke from the practice-session he attended. He’s a saxophone-player and Jensen has always envied him that. He loves saxophones, but he’s got no talent with it. He can string on a guitar a little but anything that requires a melody instead of accords is too much for him.

Ducky, who looks anything but duck-like, a sexy dark-skinned woman with a beautiful body and a wonderful way with colors on walls, smells less like an ashtray and more like coffee. Her father, a very strict and wealthy man, had forced her to get a job, she said, but at least she was allowed to choose it herself. So she’s a barista now and if Jensen would guess, she’s probably drinking more coffee herself than she sells. Her addiction is worse than his. Then again, with her looks she could probably woo a vegan to get a double-mocha-cappuccino with extra full-fat milk. A female vegan!

She’s been talking for the last fifteen minutes, but that’s ok. She’s fun, her voice is pleasant and Jared’s solid weight against his side makes it a nice, lazy evening.

Around ten, Bones takes a deep breath and finally asks the question that has been hanging over the group. “So… What d’ya want with us?”

Jay and Jensen share a look. In silent agreement, Jared tells them about Paint Wars, the winnings they might get and what they want to do with their part of the money. It’s only fair to let them know they’re in it for more than just the bucks so there won’t be surprises later when they get bitchy and competitive.

And they will, Jensen knows.

Donatella sighs when Jay’s finished, a sad frown on her face.

“Ducky?” Jensen asks, but he already knows what she’ll say.

“Man, I’d love nothing more than to take part. But… I wanna go to college. I really wanna go, even if it was Daddy’s idea and all. But I could study what I want, and … well…” she looks up at them with her big brown eyes and tries a smile “I’m really sorry, but I can’t. If they catch me…”

“Ducky, that’s bull-shit.” Blue snarls. “If they get us, you’re the one to fear the least consequences. Man, your dad is Marvin Dunn, nobody would charge you with a lot. He’ll get his lawyers –“

“No, he won’t, Blue. He said so last time I got caught racking for paint. He said if I ever get caught again doing shit like that, I’m on my own. And really… I don’t wanna risk that.”

Bones stares at her, a look of silent betrayal on his face. Much the same as Crop and Robin, but Jared’s got compassion in his eyes.

“It’s ok, Ducky. I wouldn’t risk something like that either. If I could go to college… “ he trails off and Jensen can only think about what he’d do – and not do – if he could somehow help Jay getting what he wants. He certainly wouldn’t risk Jay's future, so he nods at the girl.

“I don’t mind either. It’s just a question. If any of you don’t want to, just say so. It’ll be a bit riskier than what we did before; we’re going for visibility here, after all. So if you got any doubts – say it. Only, you can’t leave once you signed in. Or well, you could I suppose. But what I got in mind is for at least two teams, so … it’d be hard if you dropped out somewhere in the middle.” Everyone nods in understanding, and Jensen has to admit that he’s got a good feeling with this.

A very good feeling.

~*~*~*~

They get the crew together. Steve Cropper, Tom Malone, Louanna Marini and Alan Rubin. Not to mention, of course, Jared and Jensen. They all signed in that same evening, their real names and the names that’ll be seen on the roll-calls: Crop, Bones, Blue, Robin, Jack and Woody.

No, he’s got no idea why he’s called Jack. Goldi started calling him that long before he ever signed a piece and it kinda stuck. And nobody really knows why it’s ‘Woody’ for Jared, though there are guesses. Jensen knows it’s his fault, Jared wanted to call himself ‘Wookie’ but Jensen had misheard and the rest, as they say, is history. Or mystery. It’s fun to pull their legs and give ridiculous reasons for the name.

~*~*~*~

Next step in the plan is getting supplies. Jared is in charge for that, he’s got connections and he’s got ways to rack spray-cans from a bigger company without so much danger of getting caught. It’s gotten near-impossible to lift something from the smaller shops nowadays, with tight security and plexiglass covering the shelves.

While Jay is out, doing some planning with Bones and Crop for Monday and their big coup, Jensen is checking the places that Jared noted as possibilities. They need to be visible, big enough and extraordinary. On his way, he spots some more and notes them down. He’s also using the time to get some training. There wasn’t much chance to run up walls in prison, though he’s felt like doing that every other day. So whenever he finds a good spot for a well-crafted graffiti, he’s rewarding himself with a little run-and-jump. Up the wall, over the stairway, down the balcony and off across the bridge. After all, they have to know how they can escape if spotted, right?

It’s pretty easy to move around on a Sunday morning. Most people are home or in church and he’s got the streets pretty much to himself. He spots some awesome scaffolding on a high building and oh, yeah, they are definitely hitting this!

With a glance around, he crosses the street, lurks a bit under the scaffold and when there is no-one looking at him, he jumps on the first metal-bar and climbs up. As usual, the work-crew has only removed the first ladder, letting the others stay over the weekend and leaving him the luxury of getting at the higher levels without needing to jump and pull up. He could totally do that, but there is cement-dust all over and he’d rather not have his black suit covered in gray. On the sixth level, he stops and takes in the view. There is still work being done here, so if they’d spray on this level, their piece would only get scrubbed off when the workers come back the following day.

Without concession to the danger, he leans over the railing and turns, hitches his ass on the metal and pulls himself up so he’s standing. With a little leverage from the scaffolding’s bracket, he’s on the top in no time, crouching so as to not accidentally overbalance and fall down fifty feet. Jared would kill him if he did.

It’s perfect. They can work up here, don’t even need to reach high, do most of it lying down or crouching. There’s space and best thing about it? Nobody’s gonna look up here at night and the light from the street will be enough to cover up their torches’ shine against the dull gray concrete.

Jensen’s already in love with this place.

On the ground again, he backs away so he can see the empty space where their piece will end up, judging the angles he needs so it’ll be looking right even from way down.

Ha can’t wait for Monday night.

~*~*~*~

After the scaffolding, there isn't much that screams 'perfect' at Jensen the same way. Sure, there are possibilities, and a lot of them. But it's not the same and he knows that the high-rise will be their master-piece. Still, he needs more places for more art, and he knows that while Blue has less talent in spotting than he does, she's still pretty good. So he doesn't worry when he gets back to the closet-apartment that night, waiting for Jay to come back.

The bed is still lumpy but compared to prison, it's paradise on earth and despite the earthquake-rumbling from the passing trains, he's drifting off to sleep sooner than he wants.

~*~*~*~

His dreams are full of laughing boys, big trees and dull prison walls.

~*~*~*~

He wakes to voices from outside the paper-thin door and peaks his ears, but the two men arguing are already leaving, getting less audible. It must be morning already, the sun is filtering through the dirty windows, harsh and smoke-filled and gray. There is a warm body pressed next to his, arm thrown over his hip and a soft snore in his ear. He knows it's Jared, would know even if it wasn't their shared bed, shared apartment and shared life. Jensen knows Jay in a way he would never know anyone else, knows his scent when freshly showered or covered in sweat, knows his eyes even through the dark shades they wear and would find his figure among thousands that have the same height and build – if there were thousands like that.

He's known this kid since he was eight and Jared was four, has felt him through nights of terror and fear and misery, his own or Jay's, makes no difference. They have not only grown up together but grown into each other, a fucking symbiosis, one organism even though there are two hearts beating in it.

Some might call it love, some might call it sick. Some people would tell them it's weird, some say it's unhealthy but no-on would be able to forbid it – and even if they did, there wouldn't be any use. They are two-in-one, like a special offer at Target.

So it doesn't bother him at all to snuggle deeper into his friend, brother, home, his whole world. He likes the heat, the protection it offers to have this man behind him, knowing Jay'd kill or die to make sure he's safe. He knows that because it's the same for him, no hesitation. They would both jump in front of a train for the other, and it's weird that they don't think it weird at all. It's just the way they are.

“You awake, Jens?” A low murmur against his ear and Jensen smiles, knows that Jared can feel his grin in the way his body moves and tenses. “Cause if you are, I have to tell ya that you got dirt all over your pants and you have to get up to speak with that guy Whicker. In -” Jensen can feel him move his arm and he misses the warmth it lent to his body now that it's gone “- one hour. I would skip breakfast, if I were you.”

Jensen groans, annoyed. He planned to get up, have a nice, long, expensive breakfast with Jay and skip out on the bill before they'd go and talk with the crew, plan the coup Jay had figured out with Bones and Crop and sketch a bit with Blue Lou so they'd be all set when the countdown starts.

But there is really no way he's going back inside for something minor like not talking to the probation-officer. They all might sit in prison come next week, but at least it would be for doing what they love, not for not doing what he hates.

“Jensen?”

“Yeah, yeah. I'm goin'. Stop freakin' be so pushy.” He can feel Jared chuckle, a nice feeling that makes his body shake.

“Dude, don't be grumpy yet. Just grit your teeth, make notes, be … well, I wouldn't be able to say 'be pleasant' with a straight face, so just be less yourself and when you're back, we'll have the cans here and we're set to start. I got an idea already for a great piece, so if you're up for it, you can sketch it. You know I hate using those things.”

He's talking about pencils. For some strange reason, Jared hates pencils with a passion. He says it's because they only make things gray, and the world should be full of color. Still, he likes what Jensen sketches and never had problems knowing instinctively which color has to go into what element of the drawing.

Jared is weird sometimes.

~*~*~*~

Shower and shave, deodorant and a fresh pair of pants later – black, of course – Jensen is sitting in Thomas D. Whicker's office, trying not to wear his gritted teeth to little, useless stumps. He might need them for biting the man's fat, wobbly wart off his nose.

That disgusting image keeps him sane for another ten seconds before he has to concentrate again on the fucker's diminishing talks.

He's like those nuns, telling him what he can't do, what he isn't allowed to do, what he shouldn't even try. And he's so fucking close to do all those things, right now, in this office. Jensen has never considered peeing in public – or semi-public. But he's getting the urge to do it now, piss on the man's disgustingly clean desk and messing up his paperclip-collection.

~*~*~*~

After he's been talked down on enough to last a lifetime, Jensen has to lose some energy before he'll be put in prison for committing homicide. Jared told him not to call, so he's got no choice but run alone. His sneakers hit the pavement and he feels his heart beat again in his chest when he jogs along the sidewalk, just warming up for the real running.

Soon, he spots the perfect place, the big square in front of the city-hall. It's filled with skater-kids already, the snarrrr-snarrr-scritch of the wheels creating the perfect background for his exercise.

He starts with the stairs, up, one step at a time up, jumping five-at-once down, then vice-verse. Up, down, up, down, then off to including the railing, side-vault over and over and over, then up on it, standing and gliding downward.

Jensen can feel the tension ebbing off him, and soon he is jumping from one railing to the next in long steps that make it seem easy and effortless but could break his neck and legs and back in no time if he misjudges.

The trick is to not judge at all, to not think about what he's doing. Jay started this, like so much in their life. He was the first to see it on TV, the first to try it, the first to break his arm.

But he was also the first to master it, is still the best traceur Jensen actually knows.

Which isn't really impressive when you know that Jensen knows just about two – himself included.

But Jared is good, better than Jensen could ever be. His body is lean and freaking long, and where Jensen has to jump high, Jared just reaches and pulls himself up like it's no fucking deal. But it doesn't matter who's better. Jay says it's just because Jensen can't shut his brain off well enough, and that might be true but it's really not important. He doesn't mind being not as good as Jared. He's better at other stuff, after all, and the only competitions they get into with each other are of friendly nature, only for training's sake.

~*~*~*~

Running like this is hard. Jensen can feel his breath burning in his lungs about forty minutes after he started, but he pushes on for another thirty. It's always a tingling sense of accomplishment whenever he overcomes his own boundaries, not caring one fucking bit about how his thighs hurt and his chest heaves and his fingers are bloody from scratching on rough concrete.

He contemplates going into the apartment for a quick shower but freedom has made him wanting more: a locked door isn't enough, he craves a clean shower.

His jacket is sweat-soaked and his pants are dirty, dirtier even than the ones from yesterday. There is really only one place he can get clean clothes and a shower, so he heads off to Goldi's, hoping he's got time for a bit to bite as well.

~*~*~*~

Jensen's just finishing his bread-roll, wiping up the nice, runny, golden-orange yolk on his plate when Crop and Bones saunter in. They're grinning, and a huge weight that he didn't even realize drops from Jensen's heart. Nothing happened that wasn't supposed to, and Jay is safe.

They possibly have the aerosol as well, but that's really only secondary.

“Hey, man. You missed a helluva great sting!” Bones greets him, ruffling his still-damp hair.

“I usually do.” Jensen grumbles and shoves him, wondering briefly how someone so skinny can be so hard to move. Then he remembers this kid from the orphanage, Riley? Ryan? Something like that. Thin and small, but man, he was hard to wrestle into submission. The kid had to be running on pure adrenaline, but Jensen never managed to keep him pinned down and shut up.

Usually, the nuns would come and tear him away, not caring one fucking bit that the skinny fucker made Jay cry all the time by calling him a ‘freak who was never wanted by his parents because he was so freaky’.

Jensen hated that boy with a passion and finally got him to stuff the attitude.

It took hanging the jerk out of the fourth-story-window on his ankles to do that. Only cost him a week with nothing but plain bread and water and standing in a corner six hours a day.

A pretty good practice for prison, Jensen thought, though it was much more worth it than spraying.

“Dude, we rocked it! Nobody saw us, and Woody's fucking smooth. Can I adopt him?”

Jensen smirks. Bones was never able to hold a grudge, and even if he could – there is no escaping Jared's charm. “Gotta ask him that. Though if you do, you gotta feed him three times a day or he'll eat your board.”

Bones looks horrified, pressing his skateboard close just as Jared steps inside and grins like the moon just hung the stars. Jensen is smiling along, because, as he said, there is no escaping.

“Jens, we did it! Got more'n enough for whatever you got planned. Whatcha got planned?” he bounds over, plasters himself against Jensen's back and steals his last piece of toast. Jensen sticks his fork in his hand in retaliation. Jared only frowns and snatches the coffee.

“I got some sketches, I didn't kill the fucking wicked man and I found the best place ever. It's up high, you can't miss it. Dull gray concrete and a scaffold. I checked, they're probably gonna be working on the house for at least five more days – two weeks if they're government-employed” he snickers “and we'll be able to do it at night.”

“Oh no, Jack... you ain't talking about the scaffolding on the Myer-building?” Crop has moved over as well, still wearing a coverall underneath his shirt and looking weirder even than usual. Jensen nods. “That place is fucking crawling with cops, man! You'd be crazy to hit that.”

Jared's looking at Jensen, eyebrow raised and a glimmer in his eyes that says 'I'm in' clear as rain. If you know that look.

“So? You chicken? Don't worry.” Jensen amends at the outraged huff from both, Bones and Cropper “we'll do it on our own. You all just concentrate on the other stuff. You got any ideas on your own? Or you good with just finishing my sketches?”

And just like that, they're talking shop. Blue and Robin join them soon after and well into the afternoon, their heads are full of ideas, pieces, wildstyle and color-shades. Some time in between, Goldi served them coffee and some pastry, but Jensen honestly can't remember what it was. Donuts maybe. Or danish?

He's not even sure he ate any, a real possibility whenever Jay and food are put into proximity of each other.

~*~*~*~

Before the countdown begins, all of them leave for home to get some rest. The next days will be hard, sleep only possible during the day, and for some of them, that means not all that much. Those with a real job.

Speaking of...

“You good with your boss?”

“Boss?” Jared frowns “Who?”

“Your Boss, Jay. The man who signs your paycheck? In the can-factory?”

“Oh, that boss. Uh, well. I quit.”

He can feel his mouth open and close, can practically taste his words but there is no sound escaping Jensen's mouth. Except an undignified squeak, that might be interpreted as question.

“Yeah, well. We're gonna win that contest. And we'll be rich and famous. So, don't need a job. Especially not one where I put stuff that isn't even close to cheese into a can.”

“But... what if we don't?”

“Don't what?”

“Win? What if we don't win?”

Jay is staring at him like he just started speaking Parseltongue. “Why wouldn't we win? You planning on running in front of a car again?”

It's strangely elating and scary, to have so much confidence pointed your way. Jensen can feel his heart race and his lungs squeeze tight, but he'd be hard-pressed to say if it was a good feeling or a bad one.

~*~*~*~

Jensen is looking forward to sleep on that mattress, even though he'd prefer a bigger bed to share with Jared, who's a bit too much like a furnace to sleep close to more than one night in a row.

They meet a very unexpected obstacle to their plan, though, the minute they turn the corner to their block, car parked six minutes away.

Police-lines and spectators are blocking their path and the blue lights flashing against the buildings shove Jensen back into the day a policeman came to his school and drove him to the hospital, giving an eight-year-old the opportunity to say goodbye to his family. Like he'd be able to grasp the full meaning of that. He shudders at the reminder of the white, smelly linoleum-floor and the shut doors that lined his way to the soul-crushing view of his pale mom, covered in bandages and stuck full of things he couldn't even begin to understand. He only remembers parts from there on. Clinging to her cool body, crying on her chest, being dragged away only to be told that his father wasn't even alive when he got to the clinic, that his mom will be dead too, soon, and if he has any relatives who would take care of him.

He remembers shaking, all over, and he remembers the policeman holding him and saying it'll be okay and that they'd find someone.

They didn't find anyone.

Later, though, Jared found him.

Jared, who's nudging his back now, shoving past him like it was an involuntary contact. Jensen knows better than that, though. Still, he follows, pushing through the crowds like parting an ocean of molasses until they reach the front.

Weirdly, Jensen hadn't expected anything less than what they see.

The building that had housed their tiny shoebox is gone. Rubble. The ambulances stand idly, shut off, the drivers looking a bit pained but not in a rush. If anyone was still in there, they aren't alive.

Not that there was much chance. Because man, that house is completely gone. Bricks, mortar, wooden beams and dust-dust-dust have created a giant pile of gray. Here and there personal belongings stick out and give the whole overwhelming sight a touch of sorrow and loss.

“What the hell?” Jared says and the woman next to them must've thought it was directed at her, because she pipes up.

“Gas-leak, they think. Blew up two hours ago, nearly shook my flowers from the windowsills.” Her voice is bored, like those fucking flowers are the most interesting things in her live. And maybe they are, who's Jensen to judge that.

“Well, fuck.” Jay swears and ignores the woman's outraged glare. “How'm I supposed to get my pictures back?”

Jensen stares into the rubble that a few seconds ago held nothing of import to him. Jay is right here, next to him, so whatever was in it is replaceable. Except, of course, the pictures.

“We'll just make new ones,” he suggests gently. He'd never held them as dear as Jay did, the silent reminders of their childhood. Maybe he was better in keeping those times sealed tight in his mind, the moments he cherishes only slightly less than he cherishes Jared.

Just like that, his heart hurts with sudden longing, his eyes fill with tears because he can see it, feel his hand itch in the desire to paint, draw, sketch. He turns around, hurries off through the people still milling in ecstatic curiosity to get back to the car, back to his sketchbook. He needs a pencil, needs, needs, needs like a dying man needs water, and he can hear Jay follow, calling him but he can't stop until he gets to the car and some paper between his fingers.

He doesn't feel the concrete under his ass when he drops against the side of the Dodge, only feels the wooden pencil and the smooth paper, only sees what his mind’s eye allows him to see.

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

~*~

 

“Wow.”

Jensen blinks and wipes the grit from his eyes. They're back at Goldi's, nowhere else to go and they are supposed to meet the crew here tonight anyway. Pieces of paper cover the table, all filled to the brim with sketches, some just one big picture, some with more than one; overlapping, interloping or interrupted by white.

Jay's holding one up, staring at it like it held any meaning. “What happened to the other ideas?” he asks, but never tears his eyes away.

“Dismissed them.” Jensen croaks and with that scratchy sound, Jared's gone and brings him a soda, as if he'd asked for it. Jay sits down next to him, nudges his elbow away and shoves the drink towards him. As if he didn't get the hint the first time. Jensen scowls but drinks, the sticky-sweet Mountain Dew making him choke but it revives him with the sugar-rush that sloshes through his veins.

All the time he spent sketching before, all the colors and pictures have gone and what's left is what he drew now, entirely different but entirely more important, better, more urgent to be done right, to be done now.

“I think we might need some more green, though.” Jay muses, turning one page on its top and squinting a little, like he can't make out what's in it. Which is bullshit, Jensen knows. “Where's the squirrel?”

“Squirrel? What squirrel?”

“Exactly. We need a squirrel.”

He drops his pencil. Looks up into the very earnest eyes of his friend, judges him to not be pulling his leg about the freaking squirrel and sighs. “So put it in yourself. I know you can do that as well as I – don't see why I should do all the work anyway.”

“Awww, Mr Grouchy needs a kiss?” Jay teases and pulls him close, gives him a sloppy, wet kiss on the cheek, holding him tight a little longer than maybe necessary. Just enough for Jensen to melt a bit, tension leaving him in waves and tiredness swirling away like water through a drain.

“Stop slobbering on me, you big ape.” he grouches, but it's just a tease, not bad mood. Jay only grins and bares his teeth at him and steals his Mountain Dew.

~*~*~*~

There is no resistance from the crew. They take a look at the pictures Jensen wants – needs – to create for the competition and the only thing Blue says is that they’d need to find better places for them. To keep them from being destroyed in the near future, she says, because these things deserve eternity.

She’s sometimes a bit melodramatic.

~*~*~*~

The moment the clock hits eight, Jensen, Jay and Robin make their way to the first location, a wonderfully blank wall in a shopping-center. It shuts the doors at nine, the shop-owners would be gone by then, the place empty except of course for the security-guards.

It’s a wonderful place, one that Blue scouted out. She’s with Bones and Crop, though, doing their own piece that she’s had in her black book for a few years now and never got the chance to start with. It’d fit with the overall-theme Jensen set with his new ideas, so they agreed to let her do it tonight.

“Shit.” Jensen mutters after he bites into the burrito from the food-court. It’s half-price, and it tastes like half-price, but that’s not the reason for swearing.

Two guys he knows, not well but well enough to place them, just wandered past, not looking in their direction at one of the tables or if they were, not connecting two guys in black suits and one man in casual jeans and checkered shirt as belonging to their kind of people. The two are sprayers. There’s little doubt in Jensen’s mind that they’re here for the same reason: Bob’s Coffee Bunker, on top of which the wall is calling for color.

“What?” Jay asks, not looking up from the extra-large helping of crispy fries that he charmed from the girl behind Burger-Rama’s counter. She even made them fresh.

“Just saw Kermit and Gonzo.”

“Shit.” Robin agrees and all three drop the food they just had in their hands. “What now?”

If you had sharp ears, you’d be able to hear them think.

“Guess we have to either start before they do, or get them out somehow.”

“How?” Jensen asks, because there is no way anyone would start before the mall closes and after that, they two crews would be alone. Getting them out is the better option.

“Dunno. Let me think.”

They do, Robin goes on a stroll through the emptying corridors and tries to find the security. If they get the Boys out, they’d have to go with the original plan, and that needs some more work. And Jensen sits close to Jay, not doing anything visible but his head is swirling with possibilities, colors, ideas.

~*~*~*~  
He didn’t notice Jay sending a message to Robin. But their friend is back, slumped in his seat and looking like a bored teenager and stares questions at Jared.

Jensen sets down the pencil and stores his sketchbook in his pocket. Jay grins, leans closer and glances around a little, looking conspicuous as hell.

“I got the best idea ever.”

~*~*~*~

In the end, it's simple. Robin slips behind the unmanned information-desk – unmanned because Jared is playing dumb tourist who couldn’t find the way out and begged the nice woman to show him the way – and calls security. Siccing them on the Good Boys is painfully easy, and Jensen watches the two burly guards intercept the sprayers and escort them out, confiscating their spray-equipment they were foolishly carrying in their backpacks in the process.

He feels bad enough for that to hide from the glances of his colleagues, but not enough to suppress his grin.

At a quarter to nine, the three of them stroll in the direction of the exit, following the voice from the intercom that wishes them a pleasant evening, accompanied by the rustle and bustle of the shops shuffling the last shoppers out and preparing for the night.

While Robin should already be in his hiding-place in the women’s bathroom, locked inside the supply-closet with brooms and tons of toilet-paper, Jay and Jensen move to separate exits. Jared is supposed to make his way left, find the shop that’s being re-decorated and therefore not shut as securely as any other, Jensen moves right.

The door to the maintenance-corridors is locked, of course, but the alarm has been – should have been – disabled by Robin already. A shot of adrenalin makes his heart pound and his ears rush, but there is no sound when Jensen picks the lock and slips in.

The corridors, unlike the bright, golden public displays on the outside, are dull-grey. The walls are bare and not even covered in wallpaper or any kind of paint, and Jensen aches for anyone who has to walk around here regularly. If Jay were here, he wouldn’t be able to resist and leave a colorful reminder of the world outside, but they don’t have the time. In a short while, everyone would be gone and the cleaning-crew would make their way through the empty hallways so the splendor of capitalism can once again lure people into its honey-trap.

Alright, so he dislikes malls. A little.

Jensen finds a hiding-place in a small room next to the administration-office, sets his ass on the hard, itchy carpeting and leans back against the wall.

He’s not visible should someone look inside, only if they’d go in and really spare the time to search the room would he be in trouble. But it’s a dull room, nothing in it but tables, a few flipcharts, boxes with papers for the chart and a white wall, probably to shine the latest power-point-presentation against.

The boxes give him the perfect shelter. Jensen rearranged the charts a little so they lean closer together but not so much that it would look deliberate. They cover his head, and he prepares for a long wait. It’s only nine-ten and the security would be out and checking for thieves and idiots at least until ten, if not longer.

Just as he closes his eyes to get some rest, at least, if not real sleep, he feels his cell vibrate against his leg.

It’s a gift from Goldi, an old one that she says she doesn’t need any more since Willie got her that new Iphone-thingamaybob. Her words.

It’s Jared.

in place, targets doin rounds

Jensen smiles. Painstakingly types an answer.

good fr ya, 007

don’t mock, Moneypenny

Please, m at least Q

Q? You cant even invent toast, jens.

At least I don’t burn down a block with toast…

Unexpectedly, the time flies by. Jensen doesn’t want to know how much money they spent on texting, but it’s better than sitting alone in the dark. Robin joins in a few times, updating on the cleaning-crews’ gossip.

Twice, the door opens and the beam of a flashlight sweeps across the walls. It never lingers, though, but Jensen could really live without the pounding in his heart

~*~*~*~

round ended Jay texts at eleven-fifteen. It’s the guard’s third round, their last until the early morning-hours. It’s the perfect opportunity, at least four hours uninterrupted spraying, if the cameras won’t pick them up.

And they shouldn’t, if Robin did his job. It’s really cool to have an electrician in their crew…

Swiftly, Jensen leaves his hiding-place, sneaks through the corridors and back outside into the empty, dark mall. The security-lights are dimmer than the golden hue from the day, but it’s enough to see everything.

On the second floor, on top of Bob’s Coffee-Bunker, he finds Robin crouched behind the railing, uncoiling the rope that will keep them anchored. Jared is unpacking the tool-belts, cans and other equipment they stashed in a safe hiding-spot. They have to work heads-down, they decided during the planning. It’s uncomfortable but way better than hanging helplessly in the air in case the guards spot them.

With quick movements, they tie the ropes to the mall's pillars, the other ends already fastened to their bodies. Jensen is on lookout first and he walks over to the chosen spot from which he can see the door the guards usually come out of. In case they change their routine, Robin installed two small cams pointed to the other two entrances – or exits? - two small screens making it possible for Jensen to spot trouble as soon as it appears.

For half an hour, he sits on the cold floor, feels his ass fall asleep and wishes he could do more than just hear his friends work. The shhhhhhht-clack-clack-clack – shhhhhhht and the low voices make him curious. He knows how it should look, but there's always a difference between the sketch and the finished work. Especially when he's not doing all the work himself.

Still, he trusts them. Jared especially, but Robin's good with color too, has a sharp eye for detail and the certain something that sets him apart from the mediocre sprayers. He's got wit, more than Jensen can claim for himself. Where Jensen gets dark and moody sometimes, accompanied with Robin, there will always be an eye-twinkling joke hidden in the art.

Jay, in comparison, is full-out laughter

~*~*~*~

“Your turn,” Robin mutters close to him and Jensen scrambles upright. He'd drifted off a little, not so much that he wouldn't spot trouble but on the other hand, he hadn't heard his friend sneak up to his position. With an apologetic smile, he hands over the screens, pops his spine back in the original place and heads over to Jay, who's drinking from the water-bottle in huge, greedy swallows. His head's flushed from blood and his hair is all over the place, but he looks happy and alive, eyes aglow in the red face and blinding-white teeth making him look like the Cheshire-cat right before it vanishes to leave just the teeth floating in midair.

“We did the most important part, now it's your turn, Picasso,” he grins at Jensen and hands him the tool-belt with cans and an array of nozzles.

Jensen slips into his latex-gloves and pulls down the goggles to protect his eyes. This close to the painting, a misplaced spray of aerosol could blind him permanently and the plastic lab-glasses they usually use would slip away the moment he hung his head over the railing.

Yes, they had to find that out the hard way.

“Gimme space, Woody.” Jensen smirks, pushing past his friend to look over the railing. He sees the upside-down version of his sketch, an explosion of color and form and his brain needs awhile to figure out what exactly he's seeing. “It's good,” he says, and he can feel the pride pool in Jared's belly.

Jay knows – should know – that he's good. He never needed people to tell him that, but whenever Jensen praises his work, he looks like a fucking Christmas-tree, full of light and fire.

Weird, that kid.

“I'm going over,” Jensen announces and hitches himself up, leaning over until gravity pulls on his upper body and he falls.

~*~*~*~

They don't often spray upside-down. It's dangerous, the head-rush messes with your perception and you underestimate time and the danger you could be in, overestimate your skills. That's why you always spray with a partner, never alone.

Still, the adrenaline-hit you get from hanging on a rope, directly in front of your painting, nose-to-nose with the wall, the moment you overbalance and feel yourself slip is so perfect, it makes it hard to resist the temptation.

~*~*~*~

Jensen is hanging right in front of a pool of green. He can see the gray shades of the squirrel. Left of him is a blue bird, upside-down of course and he's highlighting the shaggy hair of one of the characters in the picture when he feels something tugging on his rope.

“Not yet.” he growls, replaces the light ocher with iron-gray and that's when it happens.

The tugging gets more urgent, the fucking latex is sticking to the ocher-can and the nuzzle of the new can snatches in a fold of his white shirt. He can't hear anything beside the blood rushing in his ears but even that stills to complete silence when he loses the grip on the can, fumbles to catch it but has no choice than to watch it fly upward – no, down, of course! - where it hits the mall's fake marble-flooring without a sound.

 

~*~


	7. Chapter 7

~*~

Everything is frozen silly. Jensen can only feel big hands surround his ankle and pull him up, urgent mumbles drifting into his consciousness. It might not take long to get him upright again, where he sways until he feels Jared grab his hand and pull him after him. He stumbles, doesn't know yet what's up but too soon for comfort, it's glaringly obvious.

Robin must have alarmed them of the guards approaching, which is why Jay tugged at his rope. They'd been switching back and forth for over an hour until then, and Jensen was determined to finish it this time round.

The loud noise a spray-can makes when it drops couldn't have been overheard, even if the security-men where eighty – which they aren't.

Now, they're running, Robin nowhere to be seen and probably already on his way out. Jensen's brain catches up with his feet and he shakes Jared's sweaty hand off, his own palms already soaked inside the stupid gloves.

Still, he's more than glad to be wearing them. With his prints on file and their left-behind equipment, he'd be in prison faster than he'd be able to say “hi”.

Jay looks over at him, apparently satisfied with his state of mind because he grins like a lunatic and takes off, swerving right unexpectedly, steps against the wall and lifts himself up into a cat leap, hands on the upper-floor railing, muscling up swiftly. Jensen swears, can hear the guards' shouts of surprise and anger and instead of trying to follow – he'd never make that jump from where he is now – swerves right to find the stairway.

The escalators are switched off and instead of taking the time to use one step after the other, Jensen does a one-handed side-vault over the rubber-railing onto the second set, the one that's usually going down and repeats that three, four times to get down. It's quicker than using the steps.

Going down was a dumb move, he realizes once he hits the ground-floor. Two more guards appear from the side, closing in on him fast. “Stop, right there!” one of them huffs and nope, not happening. Jensen swirls around to spot one of the men from before on the top of the stairs grinning down at him.

Another side-vault brings Jensen away from the ground-guards, the escalators blocking their paths a little. He takes the opportunity and runs, sprints, switches off his brain to reach the state of mind where he can do anything, even escape. His rubber-soles give the perfect resistance against the slippery, recently cleaned and polished granite and he's determined to make the most of this advantage.

“Fuck!” he curses when he rounds a corner that he was sure leads to the exit but instead is a dead-end with a small bistro in front of the big window to the parking-lot. He can hear snickers from behind, the guards have apparently figured he's trapped now. Which is bull-shit!

He glances around quickly, uses first the tables, then a slight edge in the bistro's outer wall to hoist himself up. With a leap, he grabs the big flag that announces “half-price for pizza”, feels it tear at the edges but it's enough momentum to reach the balcony of the second floor.

That's where the chase nearly ends.

The gloves are too smooth to find purchase, blocking his well-earned calluses from doing their job and Jensen can feel himself slipping, hears the “dumb fool” from below and before he can even think about dropping, Jay's paws grab him and he's pulled up and uses his feet to climb over the railing.

“Dumb fool, indeed, Jens,” Jared huffs “get rid of those death-traps and stop playing around”

“Ass” is all Jensen's got breath for, but he pulls the gloves off and follows Jay, jogging now instead of full-out sprinting.

His ribs sting, but he won't show it. Pride might be your downfall, but at least you'll be looking good on the ground, he always figured.

~*~*~*~

“Hurry up, man. Can't believe you learned to pick a lock, but not how to do it quickly.”

“Shut up, Woody, or I' won't let you play with Jessie.”

“And here I thought you were Captain Buzz all this time... Since it's his girlfriend and all... It fits much better: No sense of humor, dumber than a shoe-box-” the lock opens with a silent snick “-and my best friend in the whole world. Come on, Lightyear. We gotta escape the evil Zurg and his minions.”

Jay tugs him inside the hallway, which sadly prevents him from letting the door close silently and instead shuts with a harsh slam. “Dammit, Jay,” Jensen murmurs, and they start jogging again. “We might get out through the admin-building.”

“Might? Should? Or will? Because I really don't wanna end this challenge before it started.”

“How should I know? I'm the artist.”

“Right. Like I can't spray.”

“I never said that!”

“No, but- “

The rest is swallowed by the sound of a six-foot-four man with a tool-belt full of spray-cans running into an unsuspecting security-guard who was just leaving the restrooms, which has both of them winded on the floor, tangled in each others' legs.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Why're the Feds sneaking...” the guard stops with a frown, looking from Jay's tool-belt to Jensen's goggles. The stand-off is interrupted by the scratchy voice from the guard's radio and the faint echo of his colleagues coming closer.

Jay kicks the man during his hasty scramble upright, apologizes and helps him stand. Sometimes, Jared's too polite to be still breathing.

Jensen shoves the still unbalanced guard back to the floor and they're off again, rushing along the gray corridor. “Did you want to get his picture taken too, Jay?” he huffs while they turn left “or was it just so they'd make sure I'm the Bad Guy?”

“Dude! I'd never do that!”

The door that promised 'Exit' sadly only gets the two back into the mall. At least, it's the ground-floor now, and while they spot the guards fanning out to catch them, the men look dangerously close to dying from exhaustion. Not that Jensen's feeling much better.

His pants have a tear in the instep, for some reason, and his shirt is sticking to his back. His ribs ache and sting, the goggles have left an itch around his eyes and he only wants to go to sleep.

Apparently, the security wants to catch them before he can find a mattress somewhere, though, and with a glance, he tells Jared to split up.

~*~*~*~

He can hear the man huffing behind him, nearly feel his breath against his back. The guards are wearing rubber-soled shoes as well, and this one isn't as old as the others. He's fit and fast, and even though so far, he hasn't gotten a hand on Jensen, it's been too close to comfort once or twice.

The water-play-thingie is off for the night, and Jensen crosses the dry basin, jumps over the narrow wall to cross over to the other side of the wide mall-corridor. It's divided by benches and flower-beds, trashcans and weird things that might or might not be art.

Jensen doesn't turn around, that would be useless and dumb. Instead, he increases his pace and steps on one of the benches, leaps over the backrest with his feet tucked high and lands with a roll on the other side of the corridor, is up again without pause and is now taking the small advance he gained to run closer to the shops. He grabs one of the pillars with his flat hand, uses the momentum to turn sharply around the corner and nearly topples over a bike that someone's forgotten. He doesn't even think about using it, instead tries to stay upright. Jensen fumbles a bit, upper body still faster then his legs and twice, he nearly faceplants before catching himself on his hands.

He's up and running again, though he probably lost all of the distance he gained from the rent-cop.

Next curve, he can see the exit. He can see Robin gesticulating, the iron curtain that's locking the mall off for the night raised a little so he could slip through easily. His breath sounds like a fucking train, everything burns – that Anastacia-chick was so right! - and now he sees Robin's hopeful expression slip away.

And yupp, that's the sound of bike-tires on granite. Definitely.

Instead of the direct line to the outside, to safety – he'll never make it – Jensen drifts to the left, closer to the plain pale outside-wall. He can hear the guard huffing, hopes against hope that he's not smart enough to just cut him off at the exit. To help him decide, Jensen turns his head and grins at the guy – fuck, he's close! - and gives him the finger.

It seems to be working.

“You fucking asshole,” the man growls and Jensen can hear him pick up speed. Perfect.

He leaps, his feet hit the wall and he runs along its side for a split-second before he backflips and drops back to the ground. It's an easy move, one of the first he learned for parkour. But that guard on his bike didn't expect it, was thinking Jensen'd slow down and he can just about pull the breaks before he crashes into the hard surface. Quickly, he rights himself but Jensen's already giving everything he still has left in his body, scratching up every bit of reserve.

With that much speed, he'd crack his skull on the iron but he dives, letting whatever fucking physical force responsible carry him onward on the polished floor, right underneath the curtain. The last inches, he rolls because while granite is fine, concrete is not as nice to slide along and he doesn't stop, keeps running, not really listening but still taking in the sounds of Robin closing the mall right up again, a furious guard yelling bloody murder behind the bars.

~*~*~*~

The night is cold and Jensen can feel his sweat cool against his hot skin. He never stopped running, though it's a much slower pace. His suit is soaked and his feet scream at him, there is something wrong on his knee and he can't stop now. He wants to, but he can't.

There is nobody behind him, nothing but the night. Some dealers dealing with shit in a corner, hookers hooking and drunkards drinking.

Jensen is running.

“Jensen!”

He jerks. Right next to him – where did it come from? - is Robin's car. And Robin. Jay on the passenger-seat.

“Man, you can stop running, Jack” Robin grins “they're still way behind us. C'mon in”

The battered old Volkswagen stops at the curb and Jay gets out. Jensen is beyond breathing, he's huffing. Everything is tight and air is scarce, he feels like he's squeezed into a too-tight scuba-suit.

“Jensen, man, calm down. C'mon, sit.” Jay grabs his shoulders and steers him to the side, lets him slump down. But sitting is worse, and even though Jensens's legs and arms and freaking toes are shaking from the adrenaline, he needs to stretch out to get enough oxygen.

Whatever crap is on the sidewalk doesn't bother him right now. He slumps sideways and lies on his back, looks up into the tired light of the streetlamp.

With oxygen comes clarity.

They did it. They freaking sprayed a mural inside a freaking mall.

Jensen feels his face stretch into a beaming grin and he turns his head. Jay's sitting close, looking down with the same goofy, delighted gleam of mischief and accomplishment in his eyes that he had when they were still little kids.

“We fucking rock, Jay. Whoooohoo! We're amazing. We'll win this fucking contest!”

“Yes, we will. We sure will. Didn't I say so?”

“Yupp, you did. But after this? I actually believe it.”

Jared shuffles over, lies down next to him and they both look up into the lamp. There are no stars, and Jensen wonders what it would be like, lying on a beach and having only stars above them.

“We could go on a vacation. Hawaii?” Jared suggests and Jensen smiles. The way they are wired into each other could be scary, but so far, Jensen's always been reassured by those random hints of telepathy.

“Naww” he answers “too much sand.” He looks over.

“Not enough walls!”

“Not enough walls!”

they say in unison and laugh, still laughing when Robin looks down at them, eyebrows raised

“Dudes, you are so weird. Also, Jack, you're kinda lying in dog-shit.”

~*~*~*~

Sitting at Goldi's bar, Jensen can feel his eyelids droop. He isn't sure how the breakfast would end in his mouth, because there is no way he can make his hand lift the fork to his mouth. Maybe he could just bend down and swallow without his hands? But that might lead to him falling into the eggs, and he's been scrubbed so clean right now, he doesn't want to do it again.

Robin has gone home, after bitching for a while over the lingering smell of dog-shit in his car. Really, they left the windows open. It couldn't have been that bad!

Blue, Bones and Crop aren't back yet but Jay said they sent a text to tell them their gig went without a glitch. They'd send the picture over...

“Fuck!” His head shoots up and he's wide awake suddenly. The exhaustion that was pulling him down only seconds ago has been blown away by the adrenaline. Better than coffee-infusion.

“What?” Jay's still drowsy. But he at least has already eaten his share of food, hair still all over and wearing only a new white shirt and his track-pants. Even as civilians, they dress alike.

“The picture. Fuck, we forgot the picture. And” Jensen groans “no signature. We didn't claim that piece. Fuck!” his head now hits the table, only by sheer luck missing the plate. They went through so much trouble, and now it was for naught? He can't even think about how they could solve the problem, every time he does, he sees the Good Boys signing his mural with their names, or sending in the photo of it. Claiming – stealing! - their work!

“Calm down, man.” Jared is still calm, pushes a few buttons on his phone. “Here.” The picture he took isn't great, but it's clearly their piece. Right-side up, it looks even better. It looks really fucking good, if Jensen can say so.

“When did... what?”

“We signed it, right in the beginning. See? Left-hand corner.” Indeed, when Jensen looks closely, he can spot their names. “Robin took a better picture, when we were nearly finished. Even got your ugly head in it. He told me in the car, will post it right away. It's done. It's claimed. It's ours, and nobody can take it away from us.”

The air and tension and near-panic leave Jensen like hot air leaves a punctured balloon. They really did the unthinkable and now he's just tired. So fucking tired.

Goldi comes over, eyes their plates – or better, Jensen's still half-full one – and tuts. “You guys, need to sleep. And I don't want to know why you got your hair sticking up like that, Jack.” Jensen flinches, and very carefully touches his head. The hair is sticky, even though they rinsed the most awful goo off in a diner-restroom. Probably didn't help as much as he'd hoped... “Go, git up and use my spare-room. You can stay there until you get a new place. Shoo.” She motions them away and they obey, because there really is no alternative to following her advice. “And take a shower, Jack-my-boy. You smell like dog-poop!”

Awesome.

~*~*~*~

The large king-size-bed is more than comfortable. Jensen sleeps much longer than he has in a long time, and when he wakes it's because Jay started to crawl over to his side, for some reason drawn to Jensen's body-heat when he is a fucking furnace himself.

He tries to shift a bit away. He likes Jared close to him, doesn't mind him in the same bed – they shared a bed for so long, he can't really sleep well without the weight of another body pushing the mattress down – but if the bed's not big enough, Jay tends to cuddle.

As a kid, Jensen didn't mind. He liked to have someone clinging to him, to be dependent on him and how it made him feel bigger and tougher than he felt during the day. Because in the light, Jay was the bigger, tougher one of them. This little, wiry, thin kid was like the Tardis, bigger on the inside.

But now, as an adult and not that small – physically and mentally – Jensen prefers his space in bed. He tolerates contact, but he feels choked when people – mostly women – try to drape themselves over him in sleep. Jared is allowed to, sometimes, and Jensen has woken up quite often with Jay's octopus-arms wrapped around him, as if he were Mr Brown, the big teddy that had shared their bed whenever the other one wasn't available.

Maybe he's getting claustrophobic in his old age, Jensen thinks. But really, being followed by a sleeping wookie like a heat-seaking missile would follow its target isn't as funny as it sounds. “Jay, w'ke up. Dude.” He shoves his friend a little, but Jared doesn't seem to be bothered. Normally, he'd wake up and if he doesn't, he probably needs the sleep much more than Jensen thought.

Huffing, he shuffles a bit further away, and with an undignified yelp, he falls over the edge and ends up on the floor.

And of course, Jay is laughing, wide-awake. That fucker!

“You … you just wait!”

It's Jared's turn to yelp when Jensen launches at him, planting himself over Jay's chest and starts tickling. It's a bit like riding a mechanical horse, bucking, twisting, shoving, trying to escape. Only the unmanly giggles and laughter and the tear-stained cheeks make a difference.

Then again, those cowboy-bars draw a weird crowd...

“S-s-s Stop, Jens... pl-please... no, stop...”

“Yield, and I'll consider it!”

“I yield, I yield. Stop-p-p Jensen!”

Just when he's about to claim his victory, a sharp bang against the door throws Jensen up and away from Jared faster then he'd consciously believed possible. Some part of him – a distant one, but still persistent – is expecting an enraged nun to storm into their room, grab his or Jared's ear, hair or shirt-collar and drag them in front of the Reverend Mother, who would dole out the punishment., cranky for being wakened by such a bother.

It's only Goldi, though. “Boys, I really don't want to know what you're doing, but your little rat-pack is here. If you wanna do whatever you thought about, it would be a good idea to get up and at it.”

Jared is grinning, wide and happy and every bad thought vanishes from Jensen's mind. They have a few more jobs to do, though, so he grins back and dashes for the bathroom, laughing over the sounds of Jared trying to disentangle himself fast enough to catch him. He slams the door close right before Jay reaches the room. Still, he only takes a quick shower. The luxury of taking as long as he likes without being ogled by tattooed weirdos is still enticing, but they need all the time they can spare. Tonight was just the beginning, after all.

~*~*~*~

“Jack, come, check this out.” Blue greets him when he gets down to the bar. His friends are sitting on the halfpipe, legs hanging down onto the scruffed-up wood. Bones is holding a camera, his skateboard is rolling up and down the bottom of the pipe like he released it only a few minutes ago. Blue, Crop and Robin are looking over his shoulder at the tiny screen, and Robin seems impressed so Jensen hurries to take a look.

“Show me, Bluebird?” he asks and with a soft look, Blue hands the camera down to him. He looks up at her, trying to gauge if she took his slip into the time when they were a bit more than friends as something serious, but she's just smiling. His little bluebird has flown away, probably already found a new place to nest. Fluttery little thing.

The picture is really impressive. Blue has reached knight-status for a while, real talent but still a bit raw. Sure, Jensen has no clue how much – or if at all – she has improved during his absence, but this piece really looks out of her league.

“Dammit, girl, that's awesome.” he whistles through his teeth and her smile is proud and beaming, as if she really considered his opinion special. “I knew you were good, but this is really fucking good! No kidding. Hey, is that...” he zooms into the photo “... did you really spray Vrigil in there? Cool!”

Virgil was her dog. He was big and ugly, always got into fights and had only half an ear and so many scars that on some parts of his body, the hair wouldn't grow anymore. But that mutt had spirit, a will to fight and live that Jensen hadn't seen in any other dog til then, and not since. Not that they had time to meet many dogs...

“Yeah, that's my boy.” She sounds softer than he knows she is. Virgil died a few years back, at the ripe old age of fifteen. “It's ok if I put him in, right? I mean.. it's my painting but it's kinda your theme and all...”

“Sure, no problem. He was great, that mutt, you know that. And it is your painting. It's really gorgeous. Jay,” he calls as he sees Jared walk into the bar, still damp from the shower “look at what Blue and her guys did!”

~*~*~*~

Their next project is going to be too big to split up. Jensen wanted to do the Myer-Building first, but Jay convinced him that since the next part is going to take so long, it'd be way smarter to start with the wall first and then get on the scaffold. It's really smarter, but still... Jensen really, really wants to go up to that house and do what his fingers ache to do.

“I know, Jens, believe me. And it's going to be next. But it's Tuesday, this thing will take at least two nights and if we hit Myer on Thursday, that's still plenty of time. We can always split up again, let the others do the alley.”

Jensen shakes his head. No. He wouldn't mind dumping some of the work for the wall-mural on his friends, but he and Jay need to do the alley and the high-rise. There is no way someone else can spray what he needs to show. They can help, sure. But he and Jared need to do the fine work, the finishing touches as well as the outline of the characters and the setting. It's important. It's vital for the pictures' soul.

Vital for Jensen's.

~*~


	8. Chapter 8

~*~

“Wow. That's a huge-ass wall!”

Bones is staring at their next location like he hasn't seen it thousand times before. And he must have. Everyone in this city must have seen this wall at least that often. Those that use the train. Which means about eighty percent of the population.

“Yupp.” Jay grins. It was his location, and Jensen knows he's always wanted to make the dull gray thing look less dire ever since he spotted it for the first time, ages ago. “So, we ready to rock?”

“Who's guard?” Blue asks and pulls a face when everyone stares at her, grinning evilly. “Aw, man. You suck!”

It makes sense, though. She's the smallest of them and during the evening, when there's still traces of light, they need the sharpest eyes and the least conspicuous person to watch out. Pouting, she trudges off to to find a good spot on one of the overpasses from where you can see far enough to spot trouble before it reaches the painters.

“Ok, Woody. How long do you think it needs to be?” Robin is already deep in thought, probably counting the paint they have and calculating if they need more when Crop asks that question. Jensen answers, because it's not like he doesn't know that shit too.

“We were thinking all the way.”

“What? Are you insane? We can never do that much in two days! No way!”

“Nah, Cropper. Jack means that we use the crappy tags and stuff that's already there. We need to make the core-painting big – I'm thinking... hm, twenty feet either side?” Jensen nods, glad that Bones got what they need and how it's gonna look “You want the kids in the middle, right?”

“Yeah. I first thought we could maybe make the wall like from frog's perspective – look...” he reaches in his pocket, which is empty. A few slaps and a short burst of panic when he can't find it and Jay grabs his wrist to calm him down, then reaches into his back-pocket and pulls Jensen's black book out. Oh. “...uh. Yeah, thanks. So, look here” he shows Crop and Bones what he has planned. “But I didn't think the wall would be so full of... crap.”

He scowls. They've already chosen the least-sprayed part of the wall so they wouldn't have to go over other people's work – well, they have to do that anyway, but nobody would really consider it insult to paint over the crude pawn-works, tags and throw-ups. They really are shit. Still, going over everything higher up and paint it blue or white to simulate sky, which they'd need in order to make the frog's perspective work, would take way too much time. And paint.

“Agreed.” Robin nods. Apparently, he's satisfied with what they have in stow. “As long as this isn't a paint-eater – and it doesn't look like – we're good to go. But there's no way we have enough blue, gray and white for sky. So yeah. No froggies.”

“Yeah,” Jay butts in “so we're going frontal?” Jensen nods. It's still good enough, and they still need to go over some tags to make the sky look good, but other than that, it's the better option. “Great. So” Jared rubs his hands “let's slam!”

~*~*~*~

Jensen and Jared have worked with this crew on and off. Nothing regular, just a few bigger pieces here and there, some married couples and end-to-ends now and then. But usually, it's just the two of them, working together like a well-oiled machine. They just know how to they tick, they know when to throw over a cannon without the other saying it. They've worked in complete silence some of the times, and never realized that they haven't uttered a word.

But this, accompanied by three more great painters... it's different. In a very good way. Without needing to be told, Robin has grabbed the paint roller to start on the sky. There is no way they could do it with aerosol alone, so they've brought wall-paint with them for the surface-work. Bones has taken over the other side so the sky is already – still just white – stretching to twenty feet from Jensen's and Jared's point.

He and Jay, together with Crop, are dealing with the wildstyle. It needs to be good, though it's not the main point of the mural. Jensen has set up the surface for it, a dull gray so the colors will be shining all the more later.

Tonight, if all goes as planned, they finish the wall, then get into the details tomorrow; the finer points and the characters.

A sharp whistle pierces the dull sound of the nighttime. A train, it's only one sound not two like it would be with railway-cops.

He jumps down the ladder, takes it off the wall and down, can see Jay do the same and then he hits the ground so he'll not be visible to the tired passengers. If they even look outside.

The gravel and stones hurt against his knee and hands and he grumbles to himself that he should have donned skater-gear, like Bones did, for this job. His pant-legs will be torn, and that's his last pair. He might be able to sew it, though, and after all, if they really win, he can buy more clothes than he ever had.

Which wouldn't take much, really.

With a sound like a raging tornado, the train rushes past. Jensen doesn't look up, protects his face from flying debris and dust instead by burying it in his arms. When it's gone, his ears hurt from the absence of noise. Or maybe from the noise that was before, he doesn't really care. Jensen gets up, shakes the dirt from his suit and looks around. Jay and the guys are already back on their task, and he hurries to follow. They still have about half the night, and in the next watcher will be him.

~*~*~*~

The morning brings dull, reddish light to the ugly, gray world around them. Jensen is dead on his feet and the rest of the crew doesn't look much better. Slowly, they pack their bags and prepare to leave. It's as far as he wanted it to be for the morning, and the mural looks not much different from any good wildstyle-piece. If you don't know what it will be, you could think it's supposed to stay like that.

They've all signed already, and just in case something comes up tomorrow, they took pictures of their work. Tonight, when the light's going down again, they'll finish it. And even though they had to hit the ground a few times, this is one of the safer locations. The railway-cops are weary of the tight space between the walls and spare themselves the heart-attacks. Jensen can totally understand that.

Now the only words he understands are 'bed' and 'sleep'.

~*~*~*~

“Hey, Jens?”

They're on the way back to the wall after a day of deep snores above Goldi's. It rained cats and dogs earlier, and the moisture turned the usually dull-black roads into sparkling rivers where the lights from the buildings blink like stars on a black sky.

“Yeah?”

“I think we got a tail.”

“You got a tail?”

“No, man. We got one. There's a car following.”

Jensen turns in the passenger-seat and spots ten cars behind them. “Right. We either have a very long tail- he hits Jay before his friend can establish his dirty grin – Jeeez, how old is this guy? - “or you need to specify for me.”

“The green Oldsmobile. Three cars back.”

Jensen frowns. That is definitely no police-car. And why would the police follow them anyway? They didn't do anything, or, well, nothing that can be irrefutably tied to them. “Go right next. Sharp turn, no blinker.” he orders, and Jay follows immediately, swinging the long-ass trunk of their clunky car around so it slides on the wet road. The driver that's right behind them angrily presses the horn but Jensen can now spot the occupants of their tail. Turning back front, he swears. Kermit and Gonzo, and one more but he can't identify him. “It's the Muppets.” he growls, though of course it fills him with glee that they were so pissed at them stealing their location in the mall that they're now wasting time to get some payback.

“Really? The Good Boys? What are they, five, and we stole their little sand-shovels?”

“Apparently, yes. So, any idea how to get rid of them? I don't really want them to find our wall.”

Jared thinks, that weird frown-wrinkle forming on his forehead. It's getting deeper, Jensen is sure. Either Jay is using his brain more these days, or that wookie by his side is getting old.

“Call the crew, tell 'em we'll be late. We'll lead them to my old job, we can get lost there easily.”

“Yeah, good idea. How long you reckon?”

“Hour? Maybe?”

Jensen dials and tries to get the green car into his side-mirror by shifting in his seat. This is gonna be so much fun!

 

~*~*~*~

It's much easier than it should be to lead the Good Boys to the industrial quarter where Jay's Chees'o-Foam Company is located. It's a well-known spot for sprayers, after all, so them being there isn't in the least conspicuous. They park underneath an overhanging and now nightly-silent conveyer-belt for transporting coal, grab two large bags from the trunk and fill them with empty cans. They planned to throw them away but forgot, but this is way better anyway.

Bags over their shoulder, they pretend to not see the car parking around a corner, ignore the three guys inside and move along the storage-hall and around the corner. It doesn't take long until they have to pretend to not hear the heavy clunk of three doors closing.

“Man, those guys are really bad at this spy-shit.” Jay murmurs and Jensen can only grin in agreement.

~*~*~*~

It's a merry chase the two of them are giving the Good Boys. Right, left, right. Underneath, over, underneath and into, out on the other side. They joke around and laugh a lot, so their pursuers won't lose their trail too fast.

After leaving another empty work-hall, Jensen and Jared drop their bags and take off running. It's quite some way back to the car, and it's been forty minutes of funny-chase already.

The angry shouts from Gonzo – his snarly voice is unmistakable – urge them a little faster. It would be much easier to get along if they weren't laughing so hard.

~*~*~*~

“This way, c'mon.” Jay pulls him to the right, around an office-building which Jensen would swear wasn't even close to their car. He wants to protest, Jared's sense of direction is a bit wanky now and then. He still remembers that Jay got them lost once in a park, getting out only hours after closing-time. Jared swore he'd done it on purpose, that he didn't want to leave yet, but the fact was undeniable that they were walking for hours through a wooded area and didn't have even the least bit of fun.

Jensen swore he'd never again allow a twelve-year old to lead him anywhere. And how pathetic was it that he, with sixteen, didn't know better than Jay?

Now, though, they don't even have time to start bickering. With a loud ouff, Jensen crashes into a solid wall of muscle and flesh which smells a bit like leather and a lot like sweat. “Damn, I'm sorry.” he wants to say, but the words stick in the back of his throat.

A crowd of twenty bikers, clad in their cuts, stare at the two of them. Jensen is immensely conscious of their own clothes; black suits, white shirts and if it wasn't for the hats and sunglasses, they'd look like really stupid feds. “Uh... hi?” he grins sheepishly, and carefully inches along with Jared's pull on his arm. Those guys don't look very friendly, and the swastika on some of those trunk-like arms make him shiver. He didn't keep away from the Arian Nation in prison only to smack into them outside.

“What the fuck?” says one of the bald men, who looks even meaner than his compatriots even though he's only half their size. Jensen decides he really doesn't want to known what he'll say next, and swiftly turns on his toes and dashes off, Jared's sleeve tight in his hand.

He can hear them growl and bark, like a pack of wild dogs, and he wishes like crazy that he'd have any idea where they are and how they'll get to their car fastest.

“Up, Jens!” Jay barks, and whatever else Jared might be bad at, he's really fucking good when it comes to escaping. They scramble up a conveyer-belt into the processing-plant, crawl over some weird, sticky clay-like stuff and down into the main room.

It's pitch black inside, and it's more careful testing the way in front of them than running or even walking, but they manage to find the stairs to the ground-level and follow the nightlights to the exit. They can hear the angry growl of heavy bikes, but it's distant. Jensen is hoping the bikers don't grab the Muppet-gang in retaliation. Those jerks were probably trying to do something nasty to their piece, but they don't deserve to get hurt or worse.

Jared nudges his arm and points to the left. Right, now he can see it as well, the building they parked their Dodge at. Carefully, they sneak along the shadows, staying away from the nightly floodlights. It's not far, and soon they sink into the comforting seats of the Dodge.

“Dude... let's get outta here.” Jensen planned to disable the Good Boys' car in some way, but considering the new threat, that's the last thing he'll do. Jared throws the car in gear but keeps the lights out. Silently, with minimal speed, the old vehicle sneaks away into the night.

~*~*~*~

Their adventure throws Jensen in a loop. He's not ready to shut his brain out, always seeing the big, burly, smelly Nazi-bikers in his mind. He can't concentrate and it doesn't take long for Jared to notice.

“Hey, man. Go and do some watching. I'll call you for the characters. We can do the outlines and some more details now.” Jensen hesitates. It's his project, he wants to do it, he needs to paint. But it's true, Jared is right. Like this, jittery and not able to get into the flow of the can-magic, he's no use to them.

Sighing, he hands his can of cobalt-blue over to Jay, pushes his chemist's glasses up in his hair and trudges over to the overpass, where Robin is keeping watch. Grateful that his friend doesn't ask what's up, Jensen takes Alan's place and sits down, the iron fence against his back.

It's dark, the yellow-rose-orange glow of the streetlights too bright to see anything in the sky but the moon, hanging high up over the station. Once, he spots two train-cops walking, but they only check around the station, not coming near his friends' position.

Twenty minutes of utter boredom is enough to get his phone out and calls Cropper, who was originally scheduled to keep watch. I'm bored, your turn, Jensen texts and within six minutes, he's relieved. Back down, he takes a few careful steps onto the tracks to get a better picture from afar. It's good. It's really, really good.

“Jens?” Jay's next to him and for a second, Jensen worries that Jared will get crushed by a train. Only for a second, because he realizes that it wouldn't matter as long as he's also getting smashed to pieces. But the blood would ruin their piece, so he steps back to safety, relieved when Jared follows.

“This? Is perfect. I like the way his shoe is all battered. I wanna … can I get up?”

Jared sets the second ladder up against the wall so the two are next to each other. With cold fingers, Jensen puts on his belt and scrambles up and soon the two of them are working in tandem, giving texture to the clothes of their characters.

~*~*~*~

They finish just before sunset. Not that they'd have noticed the sun, six pairs of eyes gritty and red from the aerosol, bone-deep tired. Jensen isn't sure it would be wise to start the next project right the next day, as weary as they are, it's be a bitch to pay enough attention to their surroundings, not to mention the mural itself. And it needs to be good, needs to be fucking fantastic!

Not that he's pressuring himself, or anything.

“Man, I wanna go to bed. I need to fucking sleep two days straight.” Jensen tenses when he hears Blue's complaint. If she really does that, they'll get horribly out of schedule! They need every time they got, it's Wednesday – no, fuck, it's Thursday already! - and if they don't start tonight, it'll be Friday night and they need to do two more pieces and they won't make it if they break in between and if they split up he can't supervise and make sure the piece is exactly right...

“Jensen, breathe, man.” Jared shoves him, right out of his funk. “She didn't mean literally. C'mon, let's hop it.” It's embarrassing that Jay would know exactly why he's standing there and staring into space. Good it's just Jay, and nobody else, but still...

~*~*~*~

“Kids, you know I love you like my own and I love your work, but don't you think you're risking too much?”

Goldi is leaning over her counter, staring Jensen disconcertingly in the eyes. He feels the uncomfortable weight of her stare deep in his bones and wants to hide, to nod and give up and never do anything that lady would disprove of. For a second, her handsome dark face twists into a pale one with a beaked nose, her kind brown eyes into sharp, cold blue ones and he feels the shiver run over his spine. He's come to fear those looks, and it always took all of his strength to not break down in front of the Reverend Mother and spill all his secrets.

The one time he did, the punishment wasn't less sever than if he'd kept his mouth shut. It surely strengthened his resolve to never snitch on anyone. He always fought his own battles after that lesson.

“Leave him, Golds.” Jensen feels a hand at the back of his shoulder, big – when did his hands get so freaking huge? - and comforting. It pisses him off. He's not a little kid that needs protection! He's a grown man and if one of them would need to be protected, it's Jared. He's the younger one, dammit!

Growling, he shakes him off and glares at his friend. Jared raises his palms but has the balls to grin at him, like it's all a big fucking joke. It's not. Really. Not.

Jensen hates that he has to smile back. No, really. He does.

He turns back to the bartender. “I appreciate it, Goldi. But... it's money. We need money. And the nuns need money. The kids.” he looks back at her softening expression and doesn't mention that he also really, really, really wants people to see, notice their works. That he and Jay, and maybe also their crew but he doesn't care half as much about them as he should, will be famous, discovered, get paid for what they love instead of being stuck inside cells for creating something wonderful. “And it sounds crazy? But I actually think it's worth the risk.”

Her face softens even more and she grabs his chin and holds it in her hand, surprisingly strong for such a fine-boned person. She tilts his head left, right, up, down, gaze glued all the while to his eyes. In the end, she lets him go and pats his cheek. “Fine.” she says, and pours him more coffee.

~*~


	9. Chapter 9

~*~

Jared is bouncing. Literally. He's bouncing up and down on his toes, says he's stretching his calves but it looks like a little boy who is awaiting something amazing in a few minutes. Despite their sometimes tough childhood, Jay never lost the ability to look like it's Christmas and a huge pile of presents will await them. He's infectious, and Jensen can't help bouncing his foot as well to an unheard tune.

They're gonna do it. It's the one piece they need to do alone, just Jared and him, up high above the streets, no break to get coffee and donuts or anything. And that's a good thing, because they won't be able to take a pee-break either.

Cropper leans over the table, staring at the sketches and the location-draft. “This is fucking crazy, man.” he mutters. “You have no way to get away if they spot you, there is no other way down from the scaffold.”

Jared peers at the picture Blue has taken earlier this week, by day. It shows the construction-crew's progress and the size of the building very well. “Yeah, well... we just can't get noticed then, right?” He looks worried and for a minute, Jensen thinks of cluing him in. But not with their friends there as well. If they know, they might not pay as much attention as they would otherwise, and it's not like Jensen really wants to use plan B.

“Man... I'm just glad I don't need to get up there.” Robin grins. He has the list of all the equipment that has to go up, narrowed down to the bare necessities. “I'll pack your shit, guys. Don't fall off.” he runs off, and Jared glares after him.

“Why was it that we don't want anyone up there with us?”

“Because, dumbass, they don't have our mad skills and will either die horribly when they plunge to death - “he hits Jared's arm when he turns a contemplative face towards their friends “-or they would just cling to the railing and not move an inch. Oh, wait – no railing,” Jensen smirks “so they'll be glued to the planks and shake so hard that we'll drop the cans.”

“Hardee-har-har.” Bones gripes and slaps at Jensen's head. “Should I remind you who it was that dropped the can in the mall? Huh?”

“That was-”

“Dumb? Yes, totally. Now get you mightily-skilled asses ready, I really don't wanna draw this one out longer than we have to.”

~*~*~*~

The tall, dull building looks oppressive in the evening. It's just an office-building, so of course there wouldn't be floodlights set on it.

Good for them.

The top is set in darkness, and from the ground it can hardly be seen, which is even better than Jensen was hoping for when he scouted the place. He can feel his grin stretch the face-muscles and with glee in his heart, he rubs his hands together.

“Let's go.”

Jared looks up from where he's crouching, huge backpack between his legs. He's checking the equipment – again – but nods and stands. “Yepp, lets go. You gonna tell me what we need this much rope for now?”

“Nope. C'mon.”

They start across the street, but Jay grabs his arm and drags him back, turns him towards a doorway. Before he can ask what's going on, Jensen hears the deep, angry growl of a group of motorcycles and he shivers at the memory of the night before. It takes a while before he feels comfortable to turn around, and Jay isn't too eager either. But a short glimpse over his shoulder confirms what his ears have told them already: the bikers are gone.

Together, they make their way across the street, uninterrupted this time, and slink over to the scaffold. It's still the same, but this time, Jensen leads Jared to the backside instead of taking the actual place for the ladder. It's further from the street, set in the shadows and wouldn't be any harder to climb for them anyway.

Jay throws his backpack on the first level, then grabs the board and heaves himself up with sole muscle-power. Show-of.

Jensen's pack lands right in front of Jared's feet, then he hops to reach the board, sets his left foot on one of the connection straps and pushes. It's not that he couldn't do a chin up, but why strain his shoulders when his thighs are perfectly fine?

From the first level, the rest is easy. The ladders are still available and they only need to get their packs up before the climb, since they don't fit through the holes when on their backs. The last level, or better, the top-board which is more of a roof for the workers, is the harder part. Like the last time he did it, Jensen scrambles up the steel-structure, not even thinking about the possibility of falling. That won't happen.

Up, he lies on his stomach and reaches down from where Jared hands him their packs one after the other. If he weren't so used to doing stupid, life-risking stuff like this, Jensen would feel uncomfortable with the added weight to his arm, setting off his balance point. But as it is, he just splays his legs to have more body-expanse on the wood and hooks his sneakered toes between scaffolding and wall to tether him a little.

Both bags up, he stands and lets his hands travel over his private concrete-canvas, internally already seeing the picture it will soon show. The boards shake a little when Jared climbs up, but he's balanced enough to stand firm.

“Damn, this is higher than it looks from down there.”

“Don't look down if it bothers you.”

Jared scoffs. “Right. Who was the one who fell of the roof? Not me.”

“Yeah, but you shoved me, assbutt.”

“Just a little pat, no shoving. How should I've known that you can't even take a friendly pat?”

“Wanna get a 'friendly pat' in return? Or are we gonna paint now?”

“Yeah, yeah, bossman. But first you tell me why we brought the ropes.”

“Oh, right. Gimme.” Jensen turns – carefully, there are no railings after all – and takes the long, sturdy climber's ropes out. “It's my plan B. Gimme a leg-up.”

Jay stares at him like he's gone crazy, but when Jensen raises an eyebrow at him, he obeys. It's just ten foot to the roof, and the little help is all he needs to reach and get up. He takes a look – flat, empty, full of bird-droppings and air-condition-crap- and walks to a steel-rod that's sticking out from the roof's surface. It's sturdy and will hold a person, even if that person is the giant Dumbo down there. He attaches one of the ropes, securely with a carabiner, and looks for a second possibility.

Once the two ropes are fastened, he searches the entrance to the roof, walks over and picks the lock. Better do it now than when in a crisis, he thinks, but hopes they won't have to take this way out. They'd be inside a building, possibly stuck, so it's really a last chance-plan. Crazy, but hey, crazy is fun.

~*~*~*~

Back down, Jared has already begun to roll on the dark grounding. The rest, they'll do with spray-paint and Jensen picks up one of the paint-rolls too and helps along. They got six hours, and that should be plenty. While the piece is the one most important to him, it's also the smallest. He hopes it can still be seen from the ground, once the scaffold is dismantled.

~*~*~*~

The noise is muffled up here. The few cars that still move this late at night are hardly heard, and the sounds from the spray-cans, the rattle and the ssshhhhh, drown them most of the time anyway.

Jay and Jensen work silent, side by side but apart enough to not mess with the other's work or get an elbow in the way. They did that in the early days, bumping into each other and disrupting the lines they wanted to paint. It led to a few tussles, once even to a real fight. Jensen made Jay spray right across his piece by stumbling into his side and Jared was furious, didn't speak to him for a whole day and night. It had hurt like a nail in the stomach, acid pain everyday Jensen had to look at his friend. He'd avoided doing that, looking at him, but they had been living in an apartment together at that time, their first right after Jay was kicked out – released, whatever you may call it – by the nuns when he'd turned eighteen.

It wasn't like the sisters had been unkind. It was natural, they did what they could to make them grow up safe and relatively educated, gave them a few dollars to start a new life. Some of their compatriots from the orphanage went to college, sharp-minded and competitive as they were. Jensen isn't dumb or anything, but he just didn't care enough to claw his way up so high in the grades that he'd get a scholarship. He'd found a low-wage-job that he actually liked and tried to save up as much money as possible so he'd have some fallback-savings when Jared would follow him, four years later.

He'd gone to evening-classes, learning Spanish and some boring crap about economics because they said it was helpful for rising high and getting paid more. But all in all, he didn't mind working at the convenience-store. It had been steady, boring but nice enough to not want to shoot himself.

And then Jay had moved in and they shared their nights on the streets or watching TV and gone their separate ways during the day, Jared going to school a bit more and Jensen doing his job – and it had all been shattered that night he got busted.

He knew it wasn't his fault, but Jensen couldn't stop thinking sometimes – especially those lonely days and nights in prison – that his friend would be something better now if it weren't for his stupidity.

But that's crap. Because either way, one of them would've gotten caught. It was inevitable, really, with their lifestyle and passion for the can. So he's not blaming himself, rather contemplating the 'what if's'. And that's just as useless as eating chalk. The only smart thing he can do is taking the lessons they learned and make it better. Apartment gone to get money for the lawyers, car gone, job gone for they can't have a convict – no matter how minor his misdemeanor – working with the cash-register, and anyway, they couldn't hold his job for two years. So this, as much as it sucks, is a new start. One could argue, like Goldi or one of the sisters would, that it's not the best way to start anew wit the same crap that got him booked.

One could.

But he's got a plan. They'll win this thing, they'll save the orphanage to pay their dues, and they'll finally get noticed, become famous and live the life they want to, without worries that the next cop will put them in handcuffs again.

He's the dreamer of the two of them, so he's allowed to dream like this.

~*~*~*~

”Guys? You better be on your way down. Cleaning-crew for the offices has just arrived, so ...”

It's already five, dammit. Jensen grumbles something that might be “Yes, sure, thanks for the heads-up.”, but probably sounds more like “Fuck off, I hate you”. He's hoping nobody actually heard him, since he was on his way to disconnect. The sun is still low, a hint of a glint of blue in the sky but it's easy enough to see why they didn't notice. Maybe they should set their alarms from now on.

“Jay, need to go.”

Jared turns, looks at his watch and says “huh.” Two more strokes with the can, then he starts packing while Jensen finishes the role-call. The rules didn't say they weren't allowed to have one person roll-call all of them, so he guesses it doesn't matter. Jay takes a few pictures and they're good to go.

The climb down is the dangerous one. Well, not physically, but since they are leaving during day-break, the early-birds are already on the streets. Bones, who has the morning-shift in watching for trouble, guides them down, tells them to take cover once or twice – and Jensen isn't exactly certain he's not pulling their legs. There are some hidden smirks in his orders... - and in the end, they hit the street and quickly set the backpacks in the side-street.

It's much less suspicious if the two suit-clad guys with hats aren't carrying Tatonka-bagpacks, even though there might be a logical explanation. Maybe they are Blues-musicians and have their instruments in the packs.

Still, the way it's planned, Bones and Crop will pick them up while Jay and him leave without haste, looking like they're just on a stroll through the night.

~*~*~*~

It works so well that of course something would go wrong. They just round a corner and there they are, the Muppets. Oh, sorry. The Good Boys. What a stupid name.

“Well, howdy-ho there. Jack and Woody, in the flesh.”

“Gonzo.”

“Well observed, Mr Toy-Story. Now what could you ass-wipes be doing here, this time of night? Could you be doing somethin' illegal, maybe?”

“I don't know, Hook-nose. But I'm sure you'll tell us to enlighten our horizon.”

“Jay, c'mon. Let's go.”

“Yes, Jay.” Kermit croaks in. Really, how could you call yourself 'Kermit' when your voice sounds like this? “Go with your papa-bear. So you don't get a boo-boo.”

Jensen rolls his eyes and grabs Jared by the shoulder. Those two don't have anything on them, and definitely not size or muscle; they can't hurt them and it's much better to just let them be. But Gonzo gets his phone out and holds it up in mockery.

“Hey, whaddaya think, Kerm. How about we call the nice, friendly police-men and tell them that there is a convict looking like he just broke his parole? I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to use any of these now.” And he points to Jensen's jacket and shoes, which have paint drops all over them, just like a sudden burst of wind had swept the aerosol away from the wall and onto him. Which, sadly, is exactly what happened. He feels all his color vanish from his face, remembers the dull walls in prison and that he can't stay there again, no. No-no-no-no.

But before he can do anything, react in any way, a grizzly-bear jumps at Gonzo and claws at him, trying to rip his windpipe out of his throat. Kermit squeaks and tries to dislodge the big, furry monster but he's just a tiny frog-like person and even when he jumps on Jared's back, he can't do much.

“Jay, stop, dammit!” With the sudden shock of helplessness gone, Jensen jumps into the mangle to prevent his friend committing homicide. They wouldn't be allowed to stay in the same section if he did.

He grabs Kermit by the waist and pulls him off his own, private, irate grizzly's back, just dumps him to the side like a squiggling toddler and wades in between Jay and Gonzo, ducking under Jared's arms to force his eyes on him, not on the crooked nose of their rival. “Jared! Stop!”

He does, astonishingly.

While Jay is big and strong like an ox, he doesn't like violence. Never did, even as a kid. He always hid behind Jensen when there were squabbles in the orphanage. Sometimes, when Jensen wasn't too occupied with watching the fight and trying to learn something new he could use, he contemplated if the little squirt had had a difficult home-life with a lot of violence before coming to the nuns.

He never asked, though. Past was past and now was now, and he would always move so he'd be in between trouble and Jay.

In comparison, Jensen loved a good fight. Not that he was exceptionally good at it, in fact, Jay was way better, but he liked the mindless physicality, the punches and the kicks and the biting and the pain. It made him feel alive like usually only spraying and sketching did – oh, and sex of course. Usually, it's Jared who stops the brawls but tonight, it's different.

Maybe because the other times, halting the violence is the thing that keeps Jensen healthy and safe, while tonight it's the reverse? He thinks that might be it, because damn, the kid can get real nasty when it comes to defending Jensen. Hence the grizzly-act.

“C'mon, lets just go.” Gonzo is wheezing, eyes huge and scared. “I'm sure he won't call the police, right?” Gonzo nods, but with a growl, Jared still rips the cell-phone from his trembling fingers and takes out the battery. Not such a bad idea, actually. When Jensen turns to do the same with Kermit's phone, though, his breath seems to stop.

He can spot the biker-gang over the slim shoulders of little frog-boy, and this time, they don't just drive by. One of them, a huge man with a pot belly that sadly doesn't look to inhibit his capacity for violence at all, is pointing their little group out to his leader, the small, skinny, scary dude with the weird mustache.

“Fuck!” he murmurs. “Guys, let's better make a run for it.” Gonzo and Kermit, following his gaze, stare in shock but scramble away swiftly and dash off. Jared repeats Jensen's 'fuck' silently, then they, too, dig their toes in and run.

~*~*~*~

In the dark city-canyons, it's sometimes hard to see daybreak. It's longer dark in the shadows, black tar crawling over the sealed ground, too many lights in the streets to let the human eye perceive a change until it's so obvious that it could just as well slap you in the face.

The sun isn't rising yet, but the sky is turning sickly dark blue from the inky, light-polluted black it has been during the night.

Jensen notices but can't really do anything with it. Jay and him usually love this time of the day, when the city is in the last moments of sleep, peaceful even through all the dirt and sickness and poverty that's often well-hidden during the day.

Often, he and Jay have sat on a railing or a wall, watching the sky change and getting their asses frozen to the stone. They love the witching hour, well past midnight and still way before morning. In the summer, the birds would already sing the night away at four, some even earlier. But now, in October, the only creatures that could serenade the day would be rats, junkies and drunks – and sadly, they sometimes do.

~*~*~*~

They run through the park. It's easier to get lost in there, or better, to lose their pursuers. It's just a small park, but the trails are winding and lined with scrub, occasional openings notwithstanding. It's no trouble at all to leave the paths and run across the lawn, and with a well-timed jump, Jay and he climb the seven-foot-wall as if it were a park-bench. With an easy drop, they're out, grinning and dusting off the suits. It wasn't much more than a little exercise, but it's still good to catch a breath.

The bikers are smarter than they looked, though. Just when Jensen thought they got rid of them, a foolish thought Jared shares if you consider his smile, three bikes putter around the corner they just wanted to turn. Behind them is the wall and a narrow alley, and if fate would be nice to them, the alley would be empty. It probably isn't, but the choices are slim.

“Fuck!” Jared swears and they turn, once again jogging away from the crazy Nazi-bikers. Who aren't following. The hairs on the back of Jensen's neck rise, and he gets a bad, bad feeling in his guts. Sure enough, at the end of the alley, three more bikes and their lumpy riders are silhouetted against the strengthening daylight. “Fuck!”

There is one bright spot, though. They'll never beat themselves out of a tussle with six rockers, not to mention the real probability that there would soon be more than six. But a creaky-looking fire-escape sits right between the two of them and the nice, friendly motorcyclists that are waiting for them. The ladder is gone, either pulled up or ripped away, but that's not actually something that bothers Jensen. This jump, he can do in his sleep. “Up, Jay!” he mutters, and takes off.

They don't need much speed to make it, but walking towards the danger would surely not lead their friends to wait for them. They'd figure out what their plan is and intercept them, and that is the one bad thing in the big, steaming pile of really shitty-stinking bad things that they can't have right now. Speed and surprise helped them more than often in similar situations. Similar, though with less dire consequences...

Jared veers right, closer to the wall so he'd have a better angle for the jump. Jensen doesn't even think about following, Jay's sense of direction might be fucked, but his instinctual sense for distances, angles and heights is outstanding. A call of surprise breaks the low, deceptively purring sound of the mighty engines. Apparently, at least one rider has figured out what they're about to do. Too late, though. Jared pushes off with a powerful jump, hits the brick-wall just right with his left foot and uses the step to catapult himself high, grabs the iron balcony of the fire-escape and pulls himself up with no trouble.

Jensen is right behind, his own jump no less exact, his hands no less sure and his arms no less strong to pull his body up. Only thing that's a bit less well is this one smart fucker, who didn't take the time to get his clunky bike running but instead used his surprisingly strong legs to reach Jensen just in time to grab his calf with his own – severely less awesome – jump.

It's a really messy jump, but it's enough to pull Jensen down, his upper body and then his chin slamming against the cold steel-grid. He can feel his teeth bite through his tongue but the pain, white-hot-blinding, isn't enough to make him panic.

He kicks out with his other leg, sad for the first time in years that he's not wearing anything with heavy soles, and uses the face he connects with to scramble up again. Swiftly, he works himself over the gridded railing, not dropping or buckling like an amateur might have to and is up the next ladder before he even realizes. He can hear Jared clanging and banging a few levels up, probably already trying for a smart place to break in and get away from the house. A bit of plaster explodes in Jensen's face, small, sharp pieces stinging close to his right eye. Just a split-second later, he hears the sharp retort of a gun, so unexpected that he momentarily stops moving. Someone shot at him. Someone shot at him! In their whole life of criminal activity, nobody ever used a gun on them.

“Jens? You ok?”

Jared's concerned yell shakes him out of his stupor just as he hears the “Fucking lunatic, put that piece back.” from below. He's climbing again, up to Jay's level where his friend is waiting.

“We better take the roof.” is all Jared says when Jensen reaches him, and he nods, wiping the blood away from his lips. Smartest thing to do, because the rockers would just have to cover the entrance of the house if they want to catch them.

On top of the house, they take a deep breath. Carefully, Jensen takes a look over the side, sees the two groups down there meeting in the alley and he pulls back when the six men look up. They probably didn't spot him, but he doesn't want to stick around and wait to find out. He spits, dark blood and saliva darkening the already dark roof.

“Jensen!” While he was doing stupid foolish things, Jay found their escape-route.

“Uh...” Jensen goes over, stares across the Grand Canyon between this roof and the one to the right. The one that is at least ten miles smaller than this one.

“It's just six feet across, maybe seven. No worries, that's easy. And since we're higher, we can't really miss it. You chicken?”

Jensen swallows hard and tries not to wish that he actually were a chicken. With wings.

“Nope. No shicken. Sho, how far? Fordy feed?”

Jay is staring at him, with that skeptical eyebrow-look-thingy he sometimes has. Most often when he can't figure out if Jensen is serious or pulling his leg. It's usually a good bet to act like you're just joking, in these moments, so Jensen grins and winks. Jared is still not convinced, but he follows when Jensen retreats to get the right distance for a solid run-up. Wordlessly, he trails along with Jared when he moves three steps more than he estimated. Not that he really estimated anything – it damn well looks like forty feet!

Jared takes off a second before him. He's soaring through the air, legs pulled up nearly to his chin, a perfect drop, and falls quickly beneath the small wall where he disappears from Jensen's view. He doesn't let himself think about failing, about Jared lying splattered on the ground, and follows.

~*~


	10. Chapter 10

~*~

Flying like this is a funny thing. While Jensen has no problem with heights or with crawling head-first over, into and underneath anything that's out there, the free fall is not really his favorite thing. He can do it, usually does it without thinking, trusting Jay to never lead him wrong that he never checks for himself. And he can try to tell himself that trust is the only reason he doesn't check, but the truth is: it's like standing on top of a diving-board and looking down into the clear water, which doesn't hide the ground from view so it looks double the distance it really is And when you stand there, shivering from the water cooling your skin, when you hear the boys and girls behind you sneer and joke and tease, pushing verbally to jump, jump, jump, fucker, jump... well, that double-distance grows more and more until you either close your eyes and do it, or tug your tail and pride between your legs and climb back down, trying to ignore their laughter and nasty words, the ”bock-bock-boooak” they lay on you during your walk of shame.

So no, Jensen doesn't like looking beforehand. But when he's actually in the air, he can't pretend it doesn't give him a thrill that rolls through his veins and makes every body-part perk up.

~*~*~*~

His feet touch the flat, gravel-covered roof and he follows the force, lets his knees bend to soften the impact and just leans slightly to the left, like he already did during the flight. Fall. Jump. Whatever.

He rolls over his left side, over his shoulder and pushes up once his legs hit the surface again, two, three, four more steps until he stops the momentum, right in front of Jared, who probably knew where he would land and how far he would roll and where he would come to a stop, down to the last inch.

“Hi.” Jensen grins into Jared's beaming face, feels his own mouth nearly split his skin in two. It's a heady feeling, souring through the air like this, even though it's just a few seconds of free-fall.

“Hi.” Jay replies and bumps his shoulder “how about we find something to eat?”

~*~*~*~

When they finally find a McDonald's to get Jared his pound of food, Jensen's tongue is burning in his mouth and his chin feels like a piece is missing. He can't stop touching, to reassure that it's still in one piece. It is, Jay has checked once he noticed that Jensen was bleeding. He declared it a minor bump and Jensen didn't even mention the ribs. He's used to them being bruised, it's pretty common to have a black and blue ribcage when you're doing parkour. But the tongue? That's a bitch. It stings and he's sure it's swollen to three times its size, a heavy, hurting flob of flesh in his mouth. He shakes his head when Jared asks if he wants coffee – the thought of drinking that hot tar they call coffee makes him flinch.

He excuses himself to the bathroom, checking the damage in the mirror. Once he swallows the blood, he can see the broad, deep cut. A glance to the underside confirms his suspicion: his incisors bit straight through. Fuck.

Back in the restaurant, Jay has a large McBreakfast in front of him, and he slides one of those ice-cream-cones over when Jensen sits down. It's cold and soothing, but the sweet vanilla-stuff hurts. He shakes his head sadly. He loves ice-cream.

Jared drops his burger and walks over to the counter again, and before Jensen can figure out what for, he's back, handing him a cup filled with ice-cubes. It's chilly and hurts a bit, but soon his mouth is nearly numb from the cold and tries to pretend not to notice Jay's concerned looks whenever crimson-colored water spill between his lips. It's probably even more disturbing when you're the one watching instead of bleeding.

“Uh, I think we should let a doctor check that.”

“Hm, mabe.”

“No, not maybe. Definitely. Come on, Doc Harris should be awake already.” Jay stuffs the rest of his Muffin between his teeth and pulls Jensen with him, swiping a bunch of paper-napkins on his way out that he shoves into Jensen's hands. “Use them, this is kinda disgusting!”

“Shangs.” he tries to snark, but Jared stops him.

“Don't speak, man. That's even worse.”

~*~*~*~

Doc Harris is one of those always friendly, ever-happy people who actually like minor injuries. So many physicians seem to be annoyed when people come in with headaches and stomach-pain, as if their presence is holding them off from the fame and glory they so obviously deserve. Harris, though, loves to see stuff like that. No wonder, he's seen so many splintered bones, gaping head-wounds and crushed testicles to last a lifetime.

His practice is right next to the skate-park.

A bitten tongue is minor stuff, ordinary, routine. He gives Jensen a local anesthetic that hurts like a bitch and leaves him feeling like he's got huge dead flab of meat in his mouth, tuts a little and sets to work.

It's really weird to have your tongues sewn closed. Jensen notices the tugging, but can't feel it. His saliva is drying on his tongue and he wishes the doc would hurry the fuck up.

~*~*~*~

On their way back to Goldi's, Jensen wishes he were still bleeding. Jay keeps trying to make him say something with that glob of dead flob and the stitches tickle against the inside of Jensen's mouth whenever he swallows.

“Fuck off!” he growls and Jay sniggers, teases him even more. “Gog, Shay! Shush she fuck up!”

It's a fucking long way back.

~*~*~*~

“Suck!”

This could be interlude to a dirty offer or a dirty joke, Jensen thinks. Sadly, it's nothing like that, he realizes as he stares disdainfully at the huge glass with ice-water. Jared put it in front of him right after they got up at two in the afternoon, the happy green straw mockingly declaring the liquid the best experience like, ever. Jensen is thirsty, though, and his tongue has unfortunately stopped being numb during sleep and is now a steadily complaining nuisance.

“You okay to work still?” Jensen glares up from his drink and growls. He totally doesn't need words to growl at such a stupid question. Jared gets the meaning at once. Hands high in the air to imply surrender – as if – he nods and grins. “Dude, don't bite me. I was just askin'.”

If it weren't for the competition, if it weren't for the fact that it's already Saturday, he would consider it. But it is Saturday, and the next project might not be such a dangerous, as in: possibly deadly location, but it's their most tricky place yet.

Myer-Building? Was difficult. This? Will be impossible.

He can feel Jared's eagerness all through his own bones.

~*~*~*~

“Jay...” Bones trails off. His lips flatten and he looks intimidated. It's not news, what they've planned, so it's a bit of a surprise that he's nervous now. “You sure this'll work?”

“Bonesey, of course I'm sure. See? I'm completely sure. And why do you think I'm so sure?” Jay raises his eyebrows and looks around in their little circle of friends “Because, my friends, this is completely, utterly, one hundred percent insane.” His smile is blinding and his dimples seem to spread up to his ears. Jared loves shit like this. Insane, crazy, dangerous, lunatic shit like this.

And Jensen has always been swept up in that tide of glee and mirth that's Jared with a plan, just like their friends are now, judging from their faces. Only Bones looks uncertain still, and he would love to ask him why but Blue is faster, and also more capable of talking, without wincing in pain and instigating unwanted hilarity.

“Hey Tommy.” she hangs herself over Bones' shoulders, drapes her thin, tattoo-covered arms over his chest and squeezes a bit “why that hang-dog look? It's an awesome piece, it'll look thrilling there. We can totally pull that off, you know we can.” Bones mutters something and Blue tightens her arms, nearly unnoticeable, to give comfort. He seems really upset, and she whispers in his ear something that makes him smile and look up at her while Cropper scowls at them. Jensen shakes his head, hopes that there won't be any sexual tension between these freaks along with the tension they already have. Blue is not the type to settle down, not yet, and not with any of them. Jensen once dreamed of them staying together forever, but it was just a one time-dream that ended in chaos and terror. When he woke, he knew Blue and he would never end well on the long run.

His stint in prison happened not long after, and in a weird way, it saved him from breaking up with her. Or being broken up with by her, same difference. This way, as shitty as these two years were, they can just pretend it never happened and be friends again. Satisfyingly unhealthy, he reckons, but a great relief.

Still, it's good to see her being nice to Bones. The kid may be a mouthy fucker, but he looks a bit scared right now, and considering that this is the guy who's not afraid of anything they'd so far encountered, that's a bit troubling. Jensen would like to know what the deal is, but it's none of his business.

~*~*~*~

It's seven, Jared and Jensen are in the car. Robin called them, bout an hour ago to say they need more paint, gave them a list of what they'd need and sent them off to go buy it on the other end of the city. The shops close by are nearly empty of the good stuff, no montana, no Krylon, no Rust Oleum. It's a bother, but that's all, they figure. Jump in the car, get the cans they need.

Now, they have the trunk filled with two backpacks full of spraycans, heavy shit.

“Man, I'm really happy that we don't have to carry those,” Jay grumbles when they dumped the packs in the car. He's babbling happily about some band he listened to recently and Jensen is listening attentively. Not that he's interested much, but it keeps him from thinking about poking his tongue against his teeth every second. It's weird, and it doesn't hurt much anymore but it's itchy and distracting.

The roads are pretty empty this time of day on a Saturday, some moms with full-packed mini-vans and soccer-kids in the backseats, some sorry guys coming from their weekend-shift and some even sorrier guys just going to their weekend-shifts. Jay turns right at the intersection that leads them to the city-tunnel, and that's when the car coughs and stutters.

“Oh, no, come on. No, please.” Jay coaxes and soothes and coos at the car and if it were a woman, it would totally carry them to the moon. It is not a woman, though, and so the old clunky warrior coughs twice more and stops with a jolt. “Oh baby, no, please, baby, come on, come back to me.”

“Shared, it'ss no usse.” Jensen tries to tell him, and it's a sign of Jay's worry that he doesn't even grin at the sounds and spit that's coming from his mouth. The car stopped and won't start again. “No gash?”

“No, the needle is still on half.” Jay taps the gauge and pouts when it suddenly drops to way behind empty, apparently having been stuck there for a while now “Fuck. Gimme your phone.”

“Why mine?”

“Because I left mine at Goldi's, now gimme.”

“Baddery'sh dead.”

“Why's it empty?”

“Why is yours ad Goldi's?”

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Angry, Jared hits the steering-wheel which apparently hurts because he swears even more after that and sucks on his knuckles. Jensen decides it's better to wait him out – Jared seldom has his tantrums but when he does, it's kinda pathetically cute and always good entertainment.

This time, though, it's already over and they sit in the car at the curb and stare out into the drizzly evening. It's getting late, already closer to eight and the track through the city will take even more time.

“Cab?”

“You got any money?”

Jensen shakes his had but searches through his pockets, just to be sure there isn't a twenty-dollar bill hiding somewhere. There isn't, of course, and the seventy cents he comes up with ain't gonna help them much. Jared digs out one-dollar-eighty from his pants. Crap.

Jay stares at it with a sorrowful, lost-puppy expression like he's trying to make the bill magically mate with the coins and start to reproduce. It would look funny if they weren't a whole city away from where they have to be. “So much for the bus.”

“So, walk, I guess.”

“Yepp. Walk. You know” Jared looks at Jensen, already poised to open the door “you sound like you got a new tongue-piercing.”

“Shud up.”

“Seriously, it's getting funnier every time.”

“Ash-monkey.”

Jared cackles and rounds to the trunk, and though it would serve him right for being a dumb monkey, Jensen reaches to the backseat and retrieves Jay's hat. They'd look weird if only one of them would wear his.

~*~*~*~

It's not allowed to walk through the tunnel. That's a crappy rule, but they can't really afford to be caught with two backpacks filled to the brim with spray-cans, so they take the long way across the bridge. They alternate between a light jog and fast walking, and soon Jensen's tongue is far from his mind, shoved away by the deep ache in his shoulders. He's really regretting now that he never went on nature-hikes with the orphanage's boy-scout-group.

~*~*~*~

It's getting close to ten when Jared swears again. Jensen has been trying to forget his ever-aching back, and so close to home – Goldi's – he wasn't paying attention to anything but the pavement. If he'd stumble with his heavy load as a dead weight, he'd probably flail like a bug on his back. Or a turtle.

He looks up, though, when Jared grabs his arm and yanks him to the left. Right in front, two familiar, stocky shapes point in their direction and start walking faster.

“Aw, crap.” Jensen groans and follows Jay's pace that quickly turns into a jog.

“Stop!” the mall-guards call after them “Stop right there, Security!” and Jensen scoffs a little by the dangerousness of that threat. Mall-guards outside their natural habitat? He doesn't need a law-degree to know they have no authority. They could call the big guys, though, and Jensen hopes they have too much pride to do that just yet. Jay and he were so close to Goldi's, there is no way the police wouldn't check a well-known sprayer hangout when they catch them.

Meaning they can't let them catch them.

“Jens...”

“I know.”

They speed up, dodging left and right but never letting the gap between the guards and them become too wide to let them consider calling the cops. Lead them on, lead them away and when they least expect it, vanish.

Easier said than done, though, because this aren't nuns in long habits and plain but flat-soled shoes. This aren't even railway-cops, weighted down by tons of armory and weapons and crappy insurance. These are plain-clothed, fit men that have a personal issue with them, and even though it's a good thing for they might not call the cops as fast, it makes them considerably more determined to catch them and beat the shit out of them.

Additionally, there is the small matter of the heavy bags bouncing on their shoulders and the by-now shaken loose can's that are digging into Jensen's tailbone. That's gonna bruise.

run, run, run, as fast as you can, you'll never catch the Gingerbread Man

Why there is an old rhyme about walking, talking bakery-products digging into his scull Jensen couldn't say but it's something to focus on, something to pace his stride to, a rhythm to keep up with. run, run, run

Jared is a shoulder-width away, his own steps in sync with Jensen's. They're breathing heavily but they aren't out of breath, not yet. Sure, they have been on their feet for quite a while now, but it's easy to keep the set distance between them and the guards. Few people are still out on the sidewalks and they don't have to dodge many obstacles. For a second, Jensen thinks about how ridiculous it must look to an outsider, like that cab-driver over there. Two men in dark suits, hats and sunglasses chased by two others in jeans and cord-jackets. He wouldn't take a bet of which group looks more suspicious.

They turn around a bend and there, like a beacon in the night – or some such girly crap – is their chance to get ultimately lost. A scrap-yard, stacked with old, rusty cars and newer, still rusty cars. Perfect.

Two fast steps and a jump gets them up on and an elegant side-vault gets them over the chain-linked fence from behind which they raise their hats in a mock salute to their pursuers, who can be heard cursing from the corner. The guards speed up, one of them even tries to follow over the fence but his friend drags him back down. They try the gate but it's securely locked, and Jared cackles when the two rattle the door, cursing.

Jensen is walking backwards, too curious to let the men out of his sight and that's why he notices the evil smirk on one of their faces. The guard pulls out his cell-phone and nods to something on the gate, a sign that can't be read from the inside and wow... that's not ominous at all. “Uhm, I godda bad feeling here, man.” He feels Jared stop and turns, looks at him.

“Uhm, yeah. Me too, actually.”

~*~


	11. Chapter 11

~*~  
It's fucking two at night, when they finally arrive where they were supposed to meet their crew at one. Blue is sitting on a trash-can, her long, scater-jeans-clad legs dangling against the metal. She's wearing a dark blue hoodie that says “I won't apologize for being awesome”, and Jensen is slightly jealous. It's cold, his jacket and shirt and pants and fucking shoes are drenched from the drizzle and the puddles they had to wade through. Jay's not better off, and he also sports a long tear in his pants that starts at the back of his knee and goes all the way down to his ankle. When he walks, that leg is flapping like he's wearing bell-bottoms. It looks ridiculous, but at least there's no blood.

“Fuck, where the fuck have you two chuckle-heads been?” Blue jumps from her post and advances, clearly pissed “the guys tried calling you, like, a thousand times, why don't you answer your phone? And what the hell happened with your clothes?” She seems to realize that they are, literally, in tatters. Not just Jared's pants but also Jensen's jacket-sleeves are torn and his hat is lost forever, his sunglasses crooked.

“Fido happened. Sorry we're late. But we brought the cans. Still on, or did the boys cut their losses?”

“No, fuckwits. They went to try get answers from Goldi. Should be back any minute, but I better call them. Man, you smell like crap, please tell me that's not shit I'm smelling?”

“Okay.”

“Okay, we won't tell you that's shit you're smelling.” Jay smirks, and even in the sickly streetlights, Blue pales and swallows.

“Aw, man... Stay as far away as you can, man.”

~*~*~*~

Yes, it is shit she's smelling. Dog shit. Again. This time, though, it's entirely Jared's fault. He slipped in a big, fresh pile of it and landed on his ass. In it. Yummy. There's nothing that spells 'urgency' quite as clear as a man coming to a meeting with a pant smeared with brown, yucky dog-shit.

And they should have realized that slipping in that particular waste was a bad sign. But it had taken the guardsmen snickering to tip them off that it wasn't as brilliant to drop into a scrap-yard at night as it had seemed.

The moment they had realized that there was something off, a deep growl confirmed it. From around a hollowed-out car, a thick-furred, dirty, smelly, snarling dog of unknown parentage stalked towards them, hackles raised and crooked tail high in the air. The low rumble from his impressive chest seemed to reverberate through the cracked tar of the yard, crept into their bones and started to rattle their teeth.

Or maybe it wasn't that dramatic, but that mutt had been huge and fucking dangerous. Jay and he had twisted on their heels and scrambled up the nearest pile of disused cars, high as possible and still the dog had tried to follow. Fuck, for a minute Jensen'd been sure they had a second Tret after them, and how fucking scary was that thought?

But the dog had dropped soon when he couldn't follow them anymore, barking and growling and yowling at them.

“Jensen, I don't think we should sit here and wait for the cops to pick us up.”

“Ya shink? Hop id.”

The tower of cars had been shaking when they moved, but if there is only one thing you learn from being a traceur, it's how to move without falling. They'd had to move much slower than they would have been able to on concrete or brick, but it wasn't a huge deal to jump from one tower to the next, touching ground only where it was unavoidable and just for a few seconds. The dog had followed along but never reached them. Until there was no pile of car's left that was high enough to lose the mutt.

“Dammit.”

“On shree.” In front of them stretched an area where people could try and salvage usable things from old to put in their own probably rusty buckets, and there was no way, no freaking way the dog wouldn't be able to get them here. The only chance they had was speed and the fact that there was one dog, and two of them.

The wall at the end of the scrap-yard was high but perfectly manageable. If, that is, they reached it with all limbs attached.

“One, - “

“Three.” Jared sprinted off, dropping and rolling and back up and on the first car just when Ferocious Fido rounded their pile. It gave chase at once and there was no doubt that Jay had planned it that way to lead the smelly monster away from Jensen. No doubt whatsoever, because if he hadn't beaten him to it, Jensen would have done the same.

“Fuck!” He didn't wait around, dropped and rolled and ran, more to the right than Jared had gone, used the open window of a pretzeled Chevy as a step to its roof. From there on, it was easy. The dog had abandoned Jared again, probably seeing Jensen as the easier prey, but his claws didn't provide grip and he slipped and slid along the metal, jumping to the ground soon and following those crazy humans from there and for a moment, it had looked like he had stopped the merry chase altogether.

Wrong.

Jensen might have been impressed, he can't remember right now, because Ugly Fido had placed himself between the wall and the last car, and the only chance they had was running right at him.

Which they'd done. Aligned on the cars, a few feet apart on different spots, they hadn't even hesitated. Jump, run, fend off angry teeth and lose a sleeve but not the arm, thank God, and Jensen was at the end of the yard and did a perfect wallrun, stopping in a crouch on top to observe Jared.

Jay was to his left, the dog, furious by now, close on his heels. Jared's legs are much longer and his reach much higher than Jensen's own, and he was nearly up the wall when the fucking crazy animal used his own speed to throw himself up high against the brick and scrabble after his bounty, dug his teeth into the cloth at Jared's knee. The tearing was audible all the way to Jensen, but Jared just kicked the dog against the nose and was up and then over the obstacle, Jensen following right after.

Sadly, the Great Escape from the Dog of Doom was halted by two police-cars coming at them, from opposite sides of the road. They were trapping them in the narrow street, or at least trying to.

“Left?” was all Jared had to ask, a nod and they were off, right at the left squad-car, up on the hood and over the roof, down the back and over the trunk and that was it, they were home-free, backs aching, legs burning, lungs on fire but free.

~*~*~*~

No ten minutes after meeting Blue, the three guys arrive. The greeting is short but there is no bad blood, if something goes haywire, they still have Sunday night to come back or start a new piece on one of the alternative locations. Jensen doesn't want that, but it's an option, after all. The equipment has been stored in the trash-container Blue was sitting on and they dig them out, the bags smelling slightly of rotting fruit and old milk.

They climb the wall at the back of the alley, with ladders because not all of the crew are traceurs. And it makes dealing with the equipment much easier. It's the other side they want to paint, because that alley opens wider, like a funnel that peaks at the wall at its end. It's placed perfectly, a lot of people walk by every day, a glance into the small dead-end street nearly a given and especially when there is something unexpected to see. It's well-lit, the walls to the left and right are of light color and the ground is clean and well-kept. Incidentally, that perfect little alley sits right beside City Hall, the southern walls belonging to the big, showy creme-tinged building that houses, on business days, the close-knit pack of politicians that rule here. And because of that, security is sharp as nails. City Hall's north-side doesn't have windows, so there are no cameras in the street itself, but five guys walking into the adjacent alley and not coming back out? Very, very suspicious.

That's why they chose to climb over, why, while Jay and Jensen are standing on the ground already, their friends are crouching on the wall to pull up and then hand over the ladders so they will be able to get out when they need to. It would be a close call, probably, but doable.

Crazy. They are crazy, Jensen realizes when he places the light aluminum ladder against the left side of their new canvas. He can't have them obstructing his view, and he gently, almost reverently glides his hand over the perfect, smooth surface they are gonna paint. It's dark here, the streetlight not enough to shine all the way to them, but that doesn't matter. He knows how the piece is supposed to look, they have planned the color-scheme and they are all tuned to each other like a well-oiled machine, now that they have been working together for so long.

“Man...” Bones moans and shudders exaggeratedly “I really don't wanna be caught spraying on the City Hall...”

“We're not spraying on the City Hall.” Jared glares. “This wall is probably not even theirs, so we're spraying -”

“On someone else's wall. And I so don't have a problem with that. What's yours, Bonesey?” Crop cuffs his friend on the head, who just grumbles something and opens the can for the grounding.

”Leave him, Crop. His dad works in City Hall, you forgot? If he's caught, it might cost him the job.”

“Waid, whad?”Jensen stops the line he was about to put up.”Why din'd you ssay ssomesing?” Despite the half-serious situation, Jared giggles – freaking giggles! - into his palm.

“Because I wanna do this, man. This piece... it's awesome. It's my favorite of all those you made, and I want to be part of it. Now shut up and let's work, okay?”

Robin, who has taken position at the entrance of the alley, holds his thumbs up and the crew turns and starts painting. It's gotta be fast, but it's gotta be perfect if this piece is shall stay for more than one night.

~*~*~*~

“Dude...”

Bones is staring at the painting, the wall that once was plain cream-colored now a much darker place. From a distance, especially if you were to look into the alley from the street, it looks as if the wall is simply not there, obstructed by the painting on it, completely fused into it so it looks like the alley doesn't stop, but goes on further, like the characters on the piece are running out of the wall and into another reality. The walls to the left and right have been incorporated into the mural, giving depth and preventing a sudden break between the walls' cream and the picture's darker composition. It is, Jensen has to say himself, a fucking awesome piece of art they created.

“Dude... I would actually pay money to have something like this on my bedroom-walls.” Bones looks over at Jensen, then at Jared who is still smelly but now, thank God, the stench is covered by the layer of Krylon that Blue has sprayed on his ass. To hear something like that from a guy who is no pawn himself, who is on the verge of becoming really awesome one day and rightfully so... that's like a rush of adrenaline to the ego, like feeling the wind tousle your hair while you're jumping from one roof to the other, or like that one time where he tried to do that awesome Banlieu 13-move through the small window above the door.

Sure, he got stuck ten times out of eleven tries, nearly broke his neck twice and had to watch Jay do it perfectly, with an elegant swing to his long, lean body, but he still did it, and it felt like winning the world.

Felt pretty close to this.

“Sanks.” he lisps “couln't have done it wissout any of you.” And he's not lying.

“We did it, Jack, Woody. We actually fucking damn well did it!” Robin high-fives them, and they stare for a few seconds more until the flash of a camera shakes them from their tired musings. They really should be going now, maybe sleep a little. Tomorrow is Sunday – no, it's Sunday already, has been for about four hours – and then it's Monday and the War will be done.

Weary-boned, they gather the scattered supplies into their bags, as silent as possible because this, the end of the real work, is usually the time you get caught. But nothing happens, this time, they leave like they came, silent and invisible like shadows in the dark.

~*~*~*~

“Sent!” is the last words they hear from Robin for two days. He announced going to bed with his girl for at least two nights, going into details way more than anyone wanted to hear. Cropper and Blue have taken off as well, making googly eyes at each other and Bones hasn't even accompanied them to Goldi after the piece in the alley, too tired and tense to do anything but go right home and sleep.

The two of them are now, alone in their usual, extra-long booth, bar empty at six in the morning, Goldi long time gone home with her husband. Jensen has his back against the wall, an old pillow from the 'couple's-couch' that Goldi insisted on having at her bar as a cushion for his poor, hurting back. He's got one knee bent, sock-clad foot on the colorful bench, his other leg resting limply on the floor. He can feel his eyes drop closed every other minute and the warm body resting against him isn't helping to keep him awake.

Jay has his body wedged between Jensen's thighs, his long legs hanging off the bench and head resting on Jensen's lower chest. Jared's wide shoulders fit perfectly in the niche between Jensen's raised knee and his abdomen, left arm draped between knee and wall as if he was cuddling Mr Brown, the other resting on his stomach, fingers twitching now and again in dreams. Jensen can feel the soft snores like purrs of a cat, resonating in his bones, can feel the thick head of his friend moving up and down with his own breath and it makes him want to follow Jared into the same dreams, running after that mischievous child, talking with that earnest, smart young man and joking with his best friend and brother, like he has done his whole life.

It's too good a feeling to let that chance pass, and with a fleeting smile over the memory of their wonderful creations from this week, he slips into sleep, where he's climbing a tree, accompanied by little-boy laughter.

~*~


	12. Chapter 12

~*~  
Monday morning begins with a terribly stiff neck, no coffee and a best friend who's just as grumpy as Jensen is himself. Instead of battling the sophisticated coffee-machine that Goldi keeps behind the bar, they make their way up to their room, originally planning for a shower and fresh clothes. They are sidelined, though, by the incredibly comfortable looking bed and gravity, not strong enough to withstand the lure of more oblivion.

They wake again at two in the afternoon, reeking like a locker-room filled with old socks, the scent nicely accentuated by the tingling odor of already-digested dog-food.

While Jared is in the shower, Jensen stuffs his friend's pants into a garbage-bag, knots it and deposits it outside the room so they can throw it away later. He's scrutinizing his shirt and one-sleeved jacket when Jay returns and has to admit that there is no rescuing those. The shirt is dotted with sprays of paint, happy, tiny dots but still too many and too obvious to walk around with, not to mention wear to a meeting with his parole officer which is due on Tuesday morning. His teeth start aching with the sheer reminder of that jolly experience.

Today, though, there is nothing on their schedule. They'll have to check for e-mail later, to see where and when the ceremony will be held and the car's still waiting for them on the other side of the city. Or, at least he's hoping that it's still waiting. They'll need money to pay the bus, or the train because there is no way in Hell that Jensen is doing any more walking that strictly necessary. His feet are two lumps of hurt and the way Jared is walking like he's stepping on eggshells leads to the conclusion that his friend isn't much better off.

“Your turn.”

“Yeah.” Jensen would love nothing more than to take a nice, relaxing shower. Nothing, except avoid putting weight on his weary legs.

“What, you want me to carry you?”

“Would you?” he looks up, mock-hopeful expression on his face bat Jared just laughs and drops on the bed, sitting for a second before stretching out with a satisfied groan. For a minute, Jensen tries to tell himself that he doesn't actually smell this bad, but his bladder is urging him to reconsider that possibility.

With a heavy sigh, he shuffles off into the bathroom.

~*~*~*~

They retrieve the car, and it's a little bit insulting that nobody even tried to break into it to steal the radio.

“It's because she looks like a police-car, my pretty girl.” Jared coos, but Jensen isn't convinced. They fill her up and drive around, trying to spot some of the competition's pieces. They didn't have time the week before, but now that they do, it's obvious that it's going to be a tough decision for the judges.

The new pieces look amazing, some so bright and colorful they hurt the eye, some dark and brooding, some happy and some sad. They're scattered all over the city, and when they check on their neighboring districts, places where Jared and he seldom hang out, two or three murals catch Jensen's eye that make him doubt.

He isn't used to that. He still loves their pieces, the moments in time they froze into walls and there is no doubt they are amazing. But will they be enough to convince a jury? Would that guy who's maybe offering a contract think it's enough? Are they maybe too personal to him and Jared to capture people, to keep them interested in what they have to say?

He doesn't notice that he started gnawing on his thumbnail until Jared bats his hand away. “Dude, stop fretting. We did the most awesome things this last week. These? Are fucking good, but ours are fucking amazing, and you know that. There is no way these here will win.”

Jensen nods, but can't help that puddle of tar-black uncertainty in his belly. It tastes like ash.

~*~*~*~

While Jensen is trying to charm Mr Whicker, a crisp new shirt that they... uh, liberated from WallMart underneath a sweater he borrowed from Willie that makes him look like he's a drowned kitten – Jared's words, not his, the e-mail arrives with date and location. That was fast, he thinks when Jared holds the printed sheet out to him as he steps back into their room. He couldn't say if that's a bad sign or a good one.

“So, what did Whicker-Basket say?”

“I'm a bad person and I should have stayed in prison, I need a job and I'll have a mark in my file for not reporting my change of address.”

Jared scowls, looking like he would love nothing more than tear that man's throat out. It's good to see someone caring so much, Jensen admits, though in the office, he hadn't cared one bit about that information. It's a minor thing and petty bullying, but he's used to that. He's dealt with bullies all his life, usually for Jay's benefit.

He claps his friend on the shoulder and snatches the sheet out of his hand, dodging the attempt of retrieval and reads. It's not much, just the information that on Thursday at ten, they should be at a warehouse in the cannery-district if they want to know who's won the competition.

They should probably get some new clothes for that.

~*~*~*~

It's ten and the warehouse is stacked with people. Crazy people, ordinary people, friends he hasn't seen in ages and complete strangers. Jared nudges him when he spots Kermit and Gonzo, but the two are standing in a group with some old-school-sprayers and so they don't bother going over and wishing them luck.  
Blue, Crop and Bones are somewhere in the melee and Ducky is skipping over to them now, bouncy and happy and oblivious, it seems, to the stares that are following her like the tail of a shooting star.

“Jack, Woody!” she squeals as she jumps into Jared's arms, completely certain he's gonna catch her. And who wouldn't catch that bundle of beautiful energy? Jensen smirks when he sees the jealous scowls on some of the guys around them. “I just saw the pieces you did, that's just... wow. Oh man, I so wish I could've helped, I'm sorry I didn't. I really am.”

“I know, Duckster. But that's okay. We were fine.”

“I know you were, stupid.” she steps away from Jay and gives Jensen a long, thorough hug “but that doesn't mean I don't wish to have had my hand in it as well. You did so well...”

“Where did you ssee the pieces?” Jensen inquires and Ducky stares at him, hard.

“Back-wall. They hung all of the entries in poster-size. What's wrong with your tongue, you finally got a piercing?”

Jared snickers and turns away, probably to take a look at the photographs and Jensen tries to pierce his back with an angry stare. “Bit my tongue.” He opens his mouth and shows her his stitches, satisfied when she recoils a little.

“Eww, dude, that's disgusting. Did it hurt? Oh, there's Blue, I gotta talk to her. See you, pal.” and she's off like a butterfly in a gust of wind, swirling with the airstream and weaving carnal dreams in her wake.

~*~*~*~

Jensen finds Jay in front of a huge poster showing a scene from a nightmare. It's dark and gritty, foul creatures crawling through the gray, dusty mist, seemingly reaching for the viewer. An amazing piece of work, and Jensen swallows hard when he sees the roll-call. The Good Boys, Gonzo and Kermit and someone who's possibly named Miles, or Miley? Milkey or something like that.

“Holy...”

Jared's voice is rough when he answers “Yeah.” and he points to the next piece, equally dark but with a lot more green, slimy-looking stuff. “They really are pretty good, I guess.”

“Yeah. Ah, well...” Jensen turns away, that tendril of doubt swirling in his stomach but he shoves it down with a handful of potato-chips from the nearby table. Together, they move along the walls, take in the pictures but also the names and faces of the sprayers that surround them.

It's a fucking big competition, and the bass-beats from the wall-mounted speakers rattle his teeth and stomp on his stomach.

~*~*~*~

“Dear Spray-Nozzles,” the lanky guy with the fire-red hair announces on the stage “welcome to the final hours of Paint Wars, and thank all of you who participated for participating. We love a war with a lot of participation.” The crowd, silent since the first words, chuckles. “This is a totally new thing. We've never done this, and we might never do this again. It all came to pass because this awesome fellow here,” he points at a man behind him, smart-dressed and suave “asked me while we were chatting quite nicely about the weather if I knew any good sprayers who might want to work for him. I said I knew several, and thus, they say, this event was born.”

The gathered crowd, mostly around Jared's and Jensen's age, but a few older fellows as well, clap and whistle and the man who might hand a bright future to Jensen and Jay – or to someone else who equally deserves it, Jensen is trying to convince himself – bows and grins and waves. The red-haired guy – Tony 'The Raven' Collins, former king of the kings but retired after losing his right hand in a bike-accident – continues to introduce the jury and other important people, but Jensen just lets it drift by. He's feeling a little pathetic, doubt now warring painfully with hope and his stomach signals that maybe it might want to empty itself, the potato-chips curling and growling and demanding to be let out again.

“Now, ladies and delinquents, here finally comes what you've been waiting for. The jury has decided, and that decision was hard. Really hard, let me tell you. You all did well, did amazing, if I may say so, but like Connor McLeod once said: There can only be one. So please gather closer,” he waits for a minute as the crowd obeys “and we'll reveal now who gets to take not only the price-money home with them, but also a talk,” he winks “with my good friend over there, who might have something in store for your future.”

It's amazing how a group as individual as this one can be so silent. The jury takes the stage, and one woman, dressed smarter than anyone else in the big, graffiti-covered hall steps forward and grabs the microphone.

“I can't really add anything to Tony's speech, it really was a hard choice. We had three crews in the final pile, the Happy Hamsters,” she grins at the name and smiles when a group of excited teens whoops in joy “the Good Boys.” Jensen tries to see their rivals, spots them on the other side of the room where they smile and nod at each other “and, of course, The Killer Bees.”

Strangely, it's not a surprise that they name them. He never doubted to get close, it's just the win-part he's not so sure anymore. A little sure, but not entirely. Jared, though, is beaming already, bouncing on his toes, eager to go up and get their price because that's how certain he is of winning. Some people snickered at the name, but Jay had insisted. It had been his favorite sketch, seen in a recorded episode of Saturday Night Live, from 1920 or something. The nuns had allowed them to watch it, the ratty TV and VCR-system nearly drowning the sound with its constant scratchy noise. But Jared, seven or eight years old, had loved that silly piece of shit, and it was either Killer Bees or Toy Story as a name and everyone had agreed that there was a limit, and Toy Story would have crossed that.

“It was really hard to decide.” the woman continues ”All of these murals show incredible skill and creativity, and if it were just the pictures we see, it wouldn't be possible to judge any of them better than the others.”

Another jury-member steps forward and takes over. “And this is why we had the rules installed. We judged by creativity, style, execution, yes. But we also looked at the placement, the overall visibility and the blending of the art with the surrounding.” It's completely quiet, the only thing audible the drizzle on the roof and the occasional cough from the audience. “And if we take that into account, there is one crew that went beyond any of our expectations. It is with great pride that I announce the winner of this crazy, funny, highly dangerous competition. Which are... The Killer Bees!”

With a flourish, someone uncovers a huge poster, a medley of all their pieces on one large canvas that's been hanging from the ceiling, covered by a white cloth that apparently nobody paid attention to. It looks gorgeous, a great compilation, every thing that they've worked for photographed in daylight.

Jensen is staring at their pieces, their art, their achievements from the last week, lost in a world of amazement over how good they look like this, how wonderful his favorite piece looks now that the Myer-scaffold has apparently been taken down. He's shaken from his reverie when Blue squeals in his ear and Jared grabs him, nearly squishes the air from Jensen's lungs with his Chewbacca-strength and the crowd around them claps and cheers.

They make their way up to the stage and Jensen still cannot help watch the pictures while his mind overlays them with distant memories.

Jared is beaming like a beacon, glowing in joy and pride and happiness and while Jay really is a happy person, it's not often he's seen him happy like that, all-out smiling like the world is his playground. There have been earlier occasions, though.

And they painted every one of them, in large, colorful murals all over the city:

Two boys on a tree which is bristling with life. Bugs, butterflies, spiders and moss, birds and not to mention a freaky squirrel and hidden deep in the branches is a toy-car dangling from a cord. The boys are comic-figures, but if you know what to look for, you recognize the floppy hair and the thin legs and arms that distinguished Jay during his childhood, and you might see the hint of freckles on the other boy's face – which thankfully have paled a bit while Jensen grew up. If you look closely, you see the edge of the sign of Bob's Coffee Bunker in the corner.

On the second mural, the same two boys sit on a wall, older, lanky, smiling and happy, clothes dotted with spray-paint. The taller kid has red stripes in his floppy hair, the older boy green spikes. But it's the wall that draws the eye. It's large and bursting with color, graffiti sprayed all over it, a huge wildstyle, unreadable, a celebration of life and color and light, filled with shades and angles and references only a true sprayer would get. It's their biggest piece, spread along the train-track for about half a mile, though the quality of the graffiti-graffiti – Jensen is still confused how to call it – is lessening towards the sides. It looks like there is one great piece on a wall of mediocre crap, and the kings throne above the toys – or at least their work.

Their third piece is less colorful. If they didn't know how hair-rising it was to paint it where it is, it would look like their tamest placement. It shows a hallway, white walls and dark, closed doors to the left and right, shady and silent. In the middle of the gloomy corridor, though, are the two boys again, running towards a corner from where natural light is spilling into the darkness, unseen but still there and very real. It's a smart painting, Blue and Crop created the play of the light on the black-and-white checkered floor-tiles. They even managed to hint at dust-particles dancing in the sun's rays.

The slightly bigger boy is closer to the viewer, seen from behind. His shoes seem to pound the floor and even though you only see the back of his head, you know that he's smiling. Or maybe it's only Jensen who knows, since he remembers the moment like he remembers all the others they eternized this last week. The boy in front, is turning slightly, his shoulder and head twisted towards the older kid and therefor to the viewer. His face is open, he's grinning in delight and his body-language practically screams at his friend to catch up, to catch him if he can.

Both kids draw the eye, bring a burst of color into the gloominess and even though it's just a picture at the back of a dead-end alley, it seems like you can hear the delighted laughter bubbling through the earnest building, the two running right through the wall, right on into whatever bright future might be waiting around the bend

Jensen can still hear the giggles and he remembers the joy he felt when chasing after his friend. He caught him, he knows, tackled him right at the corner and tickled him until Jared peed his pants.

They'd still been giggling when the nuns shoved them into the cold shower. That day, nothing could stop them, and Jensen had felt free.

On the Myer-Building, finally stripped from its ugly scaffold, is their darkest piece, Jensen's favorite. A huge, menacing house with evil-looking windows, seen from the frog's perspective. The viewer is set right behind the small figure of a small boy who is looking up gigantic-seeming stairs that lead to a huge, dark wooden door, with evilly grinning crucifixes. One side of the door is open and the interior of the house is pitch-black. It's a scary image, the whole scene so dark and forbidding that it sends shivers over Jensen's skin even from here.

But there is a point of light. It's set a bit left of center, so the watcher doesn't spot it right away. A small child, probably a boy, stands on those steps, looking down to the first kid with such a beaming face, so much light in his eyes and a hint of a glow around his form so the character bursts from the shadowy surroundings like a fire in the night. It's not even much color in the boy, he's wearing some dark uniform, but the way his face is painted, his hair and his eyes, he is set apart from the dark and gloomy theme and stands out like a beacon.

It was that small, sparkly boy that gave Jensen the courage to step into the house that would be his … home, for lack of a better word until he turned eighteen. It was that small, sparkly boy that really was his home in every sense of the word, that still is the only home he needs and wants.

With a bright smile, Jensen finally steps on the stage where the rest of his crew has already gathered, Jared already shaking hands with Tony 'Raven' and the suave business-guy. He walks over to greet them, to thank them, to take his price but he hasn't managed three steps when a loud, snarly voice disrupts the joyous celebration.

“This is the Police. Stay where you are, you all are under arrest!”

~*~*~*~

Later, much later, Jensen will think about this night and shake his head about the stupidity of that police-man. Telling a bunch of delinquents to stay where they are to let someone arrest you is more than moronic, and the chaos that ensued should have been predictable.

~*~*~*~

The warehouse explodes in motion and sound, people screaming in shock and anger and some even in pain when they are shoved into a table by other fleeing sprayers. The stages is surrounded, probably was before they even announced the winners, cops in plain-clothes climbing up, trying to get at least those that admitted to committing property-damage by stepping up when called. Jared shoves Bones to the back, then runs fast, Jensen right on his heels. They don't have time to make sure the crew is safe, right now it's everyone to his or her own.

They jump over the cops, landing perfectly with knees bent in less than ninety degrees, forward-momentum unhindered and they take off towards the exit, or anything else that might lead out. People are running like mice in a barn, they have to dodge and weave and use shoulders to roll themselves over the policemen that try to grab them.

Soon, they have to split, Jared off to the right side of the building, Jensen more to the left. He'd like to keep an eye on the kid, but he's way too busy to stay ahead of the cops.

Three policemen block his way, two more on his left side and two coming from behind. He swirls on his toes and heads right back, uses a fallen chair to lever himself high and up and over a girl that was just standing in the sea of chaos, screaming for someone named Benny. Only one cop's close right now, and Jensen pushes up and jumps at one of the thick pillars, uses his feet to push himself away from it and turning in midair to land on a table with spilled snacks and soft-drinks, where he twirls to face the concrete-post again. The cop's no fool, jumps right on the table and Jensen can feel his breath on his face he's so close. He twists underneath his pursuer's outstretched arm, uses the cop's speed to dodge behind his back and jumps down from the table right to where they came from.

He's running again, path clear as far as he can see, but there are cops in the doorway, too many to get past or over. He's lost more than one pursuer, they probably went and caught themselves some of those annoying kids that are moving like ants on acid. Jensen just cleared one of those random concrete-blocks that lie scattered around all over the building with a jump, too much speed now to do anything but run straight out. And that's when one of those ants gets right in his path, stares wide-eyed at him and instead of fucking moving away, he crouches low on the ground. No chance to evade and while he wouldn't mind kicking the kid, he can't lose his footing here. So he does what's usually Jay's forte, throws his legs high and sideflips over the obstacle, perfect landing even though he's not been able to do that ever before in training.

Jensen ignores the exit, where he knows he won't get out. Instead, he focuses on the corner of the room, runs right at it, two baffled cops on his tail. He hits the concrete running, one step high up and from there another against the adjacent wall which he uses to gain height and reach the supporting steal-beams that spread underneath the roof. A little upper arm-activity and he's crouched on the girder, the furious cops swearing and growling underneath him like dogs having chased a squirrel into a tree.

With a deep breath, Jensen stands up and moves, balancing on his narrow path, crossing the room swiftly now that there is nothing in his way or annoying policemen chasing after him. He moves to the high windows at the south wall and has just opened it to the night and empty yard outside when he turns to take one more look and spots a familiar figure on the ground.

For a while, he observes, sees Jared do what he loves to do, loves more than Jensen loves it, watches him running, dodging, weaving. Lazy vault over a pillar, perfect cat-pass over a table with his legs tugged neatly against his chest to land on his feet and keep on running. He seems to be toying with the cops and it's fun to watch, and Jensen imagines he can hear him laugh in delight. Jared has outwitted them all, is on his way up the middle column, a thick steel-bar that provides wonderful footholds to climb up.

It looks like Jay will be getting out the same way Jensen is when suddenly, everything changes. Jay looks over his shoulder, stiffens and leaps off his pillar, running straight in the direction of the western wall. Jensen frowns. There is no door there, and even Jay can't jump high enough to reach the window, and Jensen is too far away to get there in time so he could pull him up. His friend, though, is determined, dodges a cop grabbing him and shoves another, something so startlingly strange for someone who hates violence that Jensen can't look away.

It all takes place in seconds, or milliseconds, but the events seem slowed down, stuck in a time-loop or something weird like that. It's nearly too late when he realizes Jay isn't trying to escape at all, nearly too late to dodge low, definitely too late to jump out of the window and right on time to see Jared throw himself against a policeman's back with all his weight. Jensen hears the gun go off and the sharp sound rips him from his stupor. “No!” he screams but Jared, now piled underneath three cops, just shouts at him to run. He doesn't want to, can't leave his friend there, can't abandon him, no, not here and not ever, but he won't do him any good if he's caught.

He's on probation, if they snatch him, he's neck-high in shit.

“Kid, hey kid, over here!”

The call surprises him, more than the fact that a cop was actually trying to shoot him down and he looks out the window. Mr Suave-Man's looking up, gesturing at him to come down, a big BMW right next to him. Jensen hesitates, but in the warehouse, Jared is already in cuffs and it hurts, hurts to see him like this but he can't stay, as much as it tears him apart.

He figures it's pretty close to what Jared felt when they busted Jensen, two years ago.

With a sigh, he climbs out and jumps.

~*~


	13. Chapter 13

~*~

The County-Jail smells too familiar. The sharp, acidic stench of chemical floor-cleaner mixes with the pungent smell of puke and that locker-room odor of sweat and failure. It reeks of misery and lost hope, of missed chances and the overhanging threat of having fucked up our life for good.

Jensen feels the bile rise to his throat and swallows it down. He's not gonna puke and mess up the nice, clean floor.

The cop in front of him is overweight and chatty, babbling about some shit that Jensen's so not interested in, and he smells like he could use a good shower. “Now,” he huffs “we don't get this here often, an' there's a big flow-round now, ever since that night. Man, what a blast, all those guys tryin' to catch some weird painters when we coulda used all of 'em to bust some real crim'nals. But naaw, I aint gonna be asked fo' somethin' like that.”

Probably not, Jensen thinks unkindly, who would ask a wobbly, smelly guard when they could ask real cops. He keeps his snark under wrap and obediently follows the man into the bowels of the building, ignoring the cat-calls from some of the cells' inhabitants. They make their way nearly all the way to the back, where they stop. Jensen tries to keep his eyes on the guard's hands, doesn't want to look into the bleak interior that's way too familiar for his taste.

“Here we aw,” smelly-cop says and opens the door. “Padskilitzki, you're free to go.”

~*~*~*~

Three days. It's been three days since Jensen watched Jay be cuffed and arrested, since he jumped from the window and trusted the stranger in the nice car to not hand him over to the police. In all honesty, he hadn't cared anyway. If he got out, fine. If he'd be busted, well, he'd done that before, so there was no use in worrying.

But Mr Suave – who, ironically, turned out to be Henry Jordan Myer, owner of the Myer Building – didn't snitch on Jensen. He tried to talk to him during the drive, but Jensen hadn't been able to listen, too stuck on the image of Jay being found guilty and locked away, just because Jensen had been too stupid to run when he could.

It had taken a while for him to calm down enough to listen, but what he told him had been too good to ignore.

“Jens, what the hell?” Jay hisses as they walk back towards the front, smelly-guy leading the way and still chattering trivialities to nobody. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting you out, stupid.” he hisses back and waves cheekily to one of the inmates who gives him the finger. “Or did you wanna stay?”

“But...how did-” he stops when they reach the gate that separates the cells from the main room. Jensen understands the need to keep silent, the tense moment of anticipation and fear that it might all be a big joke and you are, in fact, not getting anywhere. But the door swings open, the guard smiles and indicates to step ahead while he locks up again, and Jared swallows hard, looks around and then focuses on the desk where Henry Myer is just signing his release papers.

“Thank you, Mr Myer. Here he is, and I hope you know what you're doing.” The booking officer looks a bit doubtful but still smiles when Myer shakes his hand.

“I do, but thanks for the concern. Ah, Mr Padalecki. It's so good to meet you. Would you care to get some lunch or would you prefer a change of clothing first?”

“Uh...” Jared looks at Myer's smiling face, at Jensen's grin and then glances down along his rumpled suit, still dusty in places from the mad scramble for freedom and, of course, saving his friend's ass. “Shower? Please?”

“Sure, no problem. I guess you'll be going with your car?” he looks at Jensen, then at the clunky Dodge Monaco that's waiting next to his shiny blue BMW. “Good. When you've caught up with your brother, here, we'll set a date. Have a good day, Mr Padalecki, Mr Ackles.” They shake hands again and watch him swirl away like a dust-devil.

“Uh... who is that?”

“That, Jay, is our ticket to fame, fortune and freedom.”

“Right. You better explain. Or better yet, let's get outta here, this place gives me the creeps.”

“As long as it's just the creeps and nothing worse, count yourself lucky.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“That's what you'd like to know, right.”

“Uhm, no. No, definitely not, thanks.”

“I could tell you tales...”

“Lalalalala, not listening!”

~*~*~*~

Jensen drives them to Goldi again, where he slips up and leaves Jared in her clutches, not feeling guilty for letting him be hugged to death. That's what you get for being a stupid, heroic idiot, after all. Shower, new clothes and gallons of coffee later, Jensen sits down with Jay against the bar and updates him on the events following his stupid, heroic arrest.

“They dropped the charges. That's basically the gist of it.”

“What, wait, what? All of them?”

“Yeah, well, the charges for disfiguring public and private property. Henry-”

“Who?”

“Henry Myer, the guy who got you out. He convinced Bob to keep the graffiti on his Coffee Bunker and his lawyer argued that City Hall doesn't own the alley and so it was private property and … ah, well. Let's just say Henry convinced everyone that needed convincing to keep the graffiti on and claim it as art.” Jensen can't help the happy grin that's still trying to burst his skin ever since he learned that their pieces would stay. “So, no damage, no charges. You're free. Henry paid the fine for you resisting arrest, but that's all they could charge you with and it's really minor crap. Henry -”

“You seem awfully fond of Henry” Jared interrupts, and Jensen looks over. His friend looks... jealous?

“What? Are you jealous, Jay?”

“No, why should I be jealous? That's … hilarious. Naw, just stating a fact here.”

But he still stares at the wooden counter-top, absentmindedly playing with a ring of moisture, left from a coffee-cup. Jensen smiles and nudges his shoulder. “Dude. You totally are jealous. That's cute.”

Jared tries to suppress his smile, but it's not working so good. “Shut up!” he growls and Jensen nudges him again.

“No need, man. Nobody could take your place as First Mate, Biggest Asshole and Largest Pain in the Butt.”

Now Jay is chuckling, using his elbow to repay the nudgings. “Thank you, Buttface, you are too generous.”

“To help you warm up to that guy - ”

“Your new sandbox-friend?”

“... well, you could actually call him that. If, you know, you were four years old. But yes, to Henry. He not only paid all that, he also arranged for the winning money to reach our friends- “

“Oh, fuck! Are they okay? Did they get arrested? Man, I never even asked...”

“Did you see them in jail? They're fine, now stop interrupting, it's getting interesting!”

“Oh, good, finally!” Jared motions to continue, a bright grin on his face that makes Jensen itch to wipe it off.

“Mr Henry Myer was so kind to pay the orphanage’s outstanding bills, handed out the winnings and, most importantly, wants to hire us.”

Now that the big news is out of the bag, Jared stares as if he's waiting for more, eyebrows raised in anticipation. “Wait, that's it? That's the big news?”

“Uh, yeah? I thought... didn't you want that?” Oh god, he never asked Jared if he wanted to paint for hire! He just assumed that he'd want to, but he never asked! What if Jay thinks it's selling out your talent? What if he... no, he wouldn't get angry about that, would he?

“Dude, relax. I'm just... I mean, I knew you'd get a contract, man. So I didn't think it'd be special. Or well, uh... yay?”

“Oh...”

~*~*~*~

 

They're on the bed in boxers and t-shirts, just staring up at the ceiling. Or, at least Jensen has been staring at the ceiling. He doesn't know what Jared was up to.

Lunch with Henry was pretty amazing. The food was delicious and nobody scrunched up their nose when they sat down, even though they looked like they always do. Except the hats and glasses. The nuns did something right with their upbringing, at least. Myer had talked about what he was thinking about, what plans he had for them, that he would be okay if they'd bring the crew along now and then but that he really wanted them, Jared and him, to work for him. Jensen had listened attentively and though he doesn't have a clue where he could find one promised to have their lawyer look over the contract that Henry handed them after coffee.

Jay had been silent throughout, occasionally asking for something or other but had basically left Jensen to deal with this. It felt... weird. Lonely. Like only half of him was there.

“Sorry, man.”

Jensen doesn't look over. “For what?”

“You know.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“No.” Jay groans and turns towards him, lying on his side but not really trying for eye-contact. “No, not okay. I've been acting like a jerk. It's just... I don't know. It feels like the end, you know?”

That sounds too drastic to keep staring at a dull, off-white ceiling. “The end?” Jensen turns his head and looks at the brown shaggy mop that's all he can see from Jared's face “What end? Why end? What are you talking about?”

“I don't know. But it feels... different. Somehow.”

For a second, maybe for two, Jensen is sure Jared is talking about them splitting up, going separate ways and not living in each other's pockets anymore. No more 'them', only 'Jensen' and 'Jared', single names for single persons and it hurts like a kick in the gut.

But it's just for a second, maybe two, because Jared wouldn't look so miserable if that's what he wants. He'd tell him, suggest it if he wanted to leave and do something alone, take the money – what little is left after paying for the stupid nuns – and go to college, or something. But that's not Jay's happy, delighted, 'I-got-a-cool-idea'-face and Jensen releases the breath he's been holding.

“Right. Different. Because we'll get paid to do what we like to do?”

“No. Yes. Maybe?” the mop lifts and the same eyes Jensen has been looking into all his life peek out underneath, still filled with the silent plea to explain the world. He gets it, suddenly, gets how young Jared actually is, that Jensen is the older one and that sometimes, no matter how tough and happy-go-lucky his friend is, he needs someone to be tougher.

“You're scared.” And that's a fact. Not an accusation, or disbelief. It's a fact.

“No, no! Why would I be scared? That's … that would be stupid. Scared,” Jay scoffs “of what? Of being famous? Right. Only a dumbnut would be scared of that.”

“Hey! Don't go calling my brother a dumbnut, snotbrat! It's not stupid to be scared. Jay,” he insists “it's not, okay?”

Jared looks up now, searches Jensen's face for something, maybe lies, maybe confirmation. He seems to find whatever he was looking for and nods. “'Kay.”

“Yeah, right. Man, did you read what Henry is gonna offer? He's got people already who want to have a real Jared-and-Jensen on their walls, can you imagine? He'll front the paint and all we'd need, which, I think, isn't much. Maybe new goggles?”

“We could use a new tool-belt. And didya see those ladders they had in the warehouse? Those'd be totally cool!”

~*~*~*~

“You could've just yelled 'duck'.”

They've been planning and kicking ideas around all day until Blue came up and got them down to get a celebratory drink. Or two. Maybe three. The noise in the bar was close to unbearable, too many people joining in the party and everyone seemed to want to shake their hands. Jensen's sure he's gonna have handshake-calluses. Even up here, the music's audible, sounds like Rise and Fall if Jensen had to guess. He's been in their room for a while now, leaving the madness in order to sketch, needing distance and a pencil. Jay has found him about an hour later, tipsy but glad to give his ears some respite.

“Huh?”

“Instead of playing Superhero.”

“You might've thought I was calling Donatella.”

“Right.”

Jensen listens to the breath next to him, thinks about the future when he'll finally be able to afford his own bed where he could stretch as wide as he likes. His own room, which is... a bit of a strange concept. He'd had his own room when he was still a kid, living with his parents. Then, of course there was the apartment, three and a half years with just himself to think about. He'd gladly given up the privilege and exchanged it for a Jared in his room – in his own bed, of course – even though it was kinda hard for both of them to bring a girl home. They usually went to her place. He's been living with someone else in the room longer than alone. He wonders if he'll get used to it.

“Still, did you have to jump that policeman? What if he'd turned around and shot you?”

“He didn't even hear me coming. There was no way he could've shot me, but there was a lot of way he could have shot you.”

“Hm.”

“Yes, 'Hm'! Did you have to stand there like a fucking idiot?”

“Was watching you being awesome.”

“Oh. Well. I guess that's a good reason, then.”

They lay silently next to each other, not touching but still so close that Jensen can feel Jared smile. The future is looking bright, for the first time Jensen can remember. It's awesome, wonderful and yes, it's scary. So many things could go wrong, they could fuck it all up, ruin their big chance. It was easier, living from day to day without a plan, or at least without a plan that included more than a week ahead. Easy and free, and Jensen gets that it scares Jay, scares him to give up the role of the driving force in their symbiotic life. That now there are schedules and rules and people who can and want to tell them what to paint. It is scary, yes. But, Jensen thinks, if there is one fact of life he's learned by now, it's that there is no way to can the wind, and there is no way to cage someone like Jared.

He'll just run straight over the walls.

 

~*~ End ~*~


End file.
